I wish I still had my cell. I’d give anything to call Bren right now or to hear Griff’s voice.
I climb into the car again and something crinkles under my foot. I peer down at the floorboard and see something next to my sneaker, something like . . . paper?
Yeah, it’s paper. And suddenly, I remember Michael shoving something into my hand. It’s a note—definitely a little worse for wear now. There’s dried blood on the bottom and one corner is torn. I fold down the edges and angle the writing to catch the overhead light. It’s four lines of numbers and twenty-one numbers per line. If I had to take a guess, it’s four bank accounts.
Presumably, Michael’s bank accounts.
He wanted me to have them.
I don’t know what to make of that so I stare at the numbers instead. I stare until they swim together. I think of the SD card Michael secured for me, how I could take down Looking Glass. I think of the bank accounts.
I think of the money.
With enough money, you can disappear. I know that. Of all people, I know that so well. I could threaten Looking Glass with what I have and then I could get Bren, Lily, and Griff and we could run. They’d never find us. I could make sure of that.
I take the SD card from my pocket and roll it around in my palm, all of Michael’s carefully curated leverage. My leverage now. It’s the only thing standing between them and me and Michael made sure I had it.
He took care of me. This was his legacy, and his love, and he knew I would know what to do with this. He knew I was ready.
And I am ready because, suddenly, I know what I’m going to do, what I have to do.
I put the SD card onto the console between the front seats and tuck the paper with Michael’s account numbers under it. I’m ready, but it still takes me a minute or two before I can put the car in drive. Once upon a time, Griff told me you can’t save everyone, but if you’re lucky, you can save one person. I’ve saved my sister, Bren, even Griff, and by giving me this money and leverage, Michael saved me. I don’t know what to do with that, but I do know what I have to do next.
Maybe I’ve always known.
But do I really have the courage to do it?
“Yes,” I tell myself, and tug the gearshift down. The car purrs forward. I keep one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on the paper as I turn onto the main road. I head north. I don’t stop and the moon is low in the sky when I pull into the parking lot.
I park under the glare of an overhead light and something beeps. I tense, peer down at my legs . . . the console . . . the passenger seat. There’s a soft yellow glow in the shadows. It’s a cell phone—a burner most likely. Michael or Martin must’ve ditched it when we got out of the car.
I run my thumb over the keypad. I shouldn’t call. I shouldn’t. I do. I dial her number and a sob catches in my throat when I hear her voice:
“Hello?”
“Lily?” My voice cracks and I have to clear my throat. “Haven’t I taught you anything about answering strange phone calls?”
“Wick!” Lily’s crying and laughing. “Where are you? Bren’s coming to pick me up. She said she took Griff to the hospital!”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Is he okay? I mean . . . do you know anything?”
“Yeah, she said he’s going to be fine. He’s been admitted or whatever, but it’s just for observation. Where are you? She’s freaking out.”
I lean my head against the steering wheel. I can’t tell her. It’s not fair for Bren and Griff and Lily to hear secondhand what I’m about to do, but I’m doing the right thing. I know I am. “I’m safe. Promise. But I have to finish something first.”
“And then it’ll be over?”
Tears sting my eyes. “Yes. Definitely. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Lily disconnects and I heave myself out of the car. I lock the doors and then wonder why I bothered.
It’s not a far walk to the main office building, but by this time, my head’s throbbing, counting every heartbeat. I shuffle along, making it, maybe, ten steps before a beaten-up Crown Vic slows along the street and stops at the curb. No passengers. I can’t make out the driver. He or she is just a black shape, a shadow.
Then the headlights flick once and I get it. I almost laugh.
Milo. That’s Milo.
He came for me—not so close that he could get caught. It’s pretty damn obvious where I am, after all, and he’s not going to get too close. I know that about him because I know that about myself. We are alike.
Only, we really aren’t anymore. If we were, he’d be down here too. I stand under the yellow parking lot lights, waiting to feel something . . . and there’s nothing. No, that’s not totally true. There’s some pity and some sadness. Milo was right: We are the products of our parents.