“She’s alive, isn’t she?” my mother said.
The room went quiet.
Derek did not answer fast enough.
My mother’s face hardened with terrible understanding.
“She’s alive.”
His silence was answer enough.
Briana took a step back, one hand over her mouth.
“Then what exactly did Jamal go upstairs to do last night?”
Nobody spoke.
The silence in that office was worth more than money.
At last Derek said, “We don’t have time for this.”
My mother leaned across the desk until she was inches from him.
“Actually, we do. Because if Allison is alive and angry, and if the trust is locked, then the only thing left in this house is risk.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you want?”
My mother smiled.
It was one of the coldest expressions I had ever seen on a human face.
“Compensation.”
Briana nodded too fast.
“For our silence,” she said.
There it was.
No fog. No confusion. No panic.
Just extortion.
Naomi, listening beside me through an earpiece in a borrowed safe apartment in Arlington, said quietly, “That’s enough for conspiracy and leverage. Keep recording.”
My mother crossed her arms.
“Three million by tonight.”
Derek actually laughed.
It was not a pleasant sound.
“With what?”
“That is not my concern.”
“It should be.”
My mother’s eyes didn’t move.
“If the money is not in my account by eight, Briana and I go to the police and explain that you staged the entire thing. You can tell your version after you’ve been booked.”
Briana, desperate now, chimed in.
“I mean it, Derek. I owe people. Real people. I cannot walk away empty.”
He looked at her then with pure contempt.
“You should have thought of that before you spent money you didn’t have.”
For the first time all day, my sister looked frightened in a way I believed.
A long time ago, when we were girls, Briana learned that charm could delay consequences. Men forgave her. Teachers forgave her. My mother called her impulsive when she was cruel and spirited when she was reckless. She had gone through most of life mistaking delay for escape.
Now the bill was due, and she knew it.
After they left the office, Naomi muted the feed and looked at me across the small rented conference table where we’d set up.
“You were right,” she said. “They’re in it knowingly.”
“What now?”
