Something makes me pause.
I don’t reach for the gun.
More information. That’s what I need. If I kill Cyrus Van Kempt now, I can’t dig through his brain. This consortium bullshit—it didn’t appear on any of the paperwork I could find. They covered it up, or they buried it, or they used shell companies to hide it. If there were more people involved, then this isn’t the end. This won’t be the end.
If I kill Cyrus now, I have to walk out and tell Charlotte it’s done.
“Who did he hire?”
Cyrus shakes his head. “I never knew. We didn’t know that your mother would go with him that night, either. Or you. When you came to see me after they died, I thought you had figured it out. I was shaking in my fucking shoes. But you only wanted help.”
“For my six-year-old sister.”
“I knew I should help you.” Splotches of ashamed red appear on his cheeks. “I should have already been there for you. I should have gone to get the children of my best friend no matter what, but even more so because I was the reason he died in the first place. But I was a coward. I was afraid you would find out. I couldn’t look at you without hating myself. I convinced myself that I didn’t care, that I was this cold-hearted bastard. I convinced myself that it was strength. The fire tonight?” Dark eyes meet mine. “I set that myself. It was harder than I thought it would be. The damn fire system you had set up in there took forever to disable. But I made sure no one was inside.” He glances down at the gun again.
I have imagined shooting this nameless, faceless person a million times. I have imagined strangling him. Shoving him out a window for a heartstopping fall before he dies in a crumpled heap on the pavement.
I’ve waited so long.
It’s three steps to the desk, and all of them hurt. My knee is fucked from all the climbing. It will take days to loosen up. It will take hours of those goddamn exercises I hate so much. But the man who killed my parents will be dead.
I pick up the gun in my hand and flip it over.
It’s loaded.
It’s time.
5
CHARLOTTE
Every step I take unspools another frantic cascade of thoughts. Foyer to office. Foyer to office. I can’t stop pacing. Can’t settle down. My shoulders ache from bracing. For fighting. Shouting. Even a gunshot. But their voices don’t rise, except once. It’s the low tones of men in serious discussion. It occurs to me in a horrible, cold wave that I could have a similar conversation tonight. If Mason kills him, I’ll see him afterward. I can’t imagine what we’d have to talk about.
I can’t imagine being able to speak.
Mason’s doing it. The vibrations of his voice are the world’s most ironic lifeline. If he’s speaking in that reasonable tone, my father is still alive.
There’s a chance we could all stay that way. Alive. I run that thread through my mind again and again and again. Talking is a good sign. It has to be.
A car out front crunches on cobblestone. My mother flies in through the door. “Charlotte. My God, look at you. Are you all right?”
I go to her embrace. It’s the most natural thing, going to her for a hug. “I’m okay. The building burned. Dad burned Cornerstone down, and I was there with Mason. Nothing happened.” What am I saying? Everything happened. My body is sore from being punished and fucked, and my legs ache from climbing stairs with Mason. There’s a tender spot on my spine from where he pinned me up against the metal gate. “I thought I should call you. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” She smooths her hand over my hair, then steps back to look at me, regret in her eyes. “You’re my daughter. You never have to apologize for wanting me with you.”
“Because it’s Dad. You just left. You were leaving him, and that’s probably better for you. I didn’t want to drag you back into all of this. I just thought—” I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that she’d want to be here at the end.
“What’s happening?” She sounds so calm. So present. “You can tell me, Charlie Bear.”
“Mason came here with me. He knows everything.”
The corners of her mouth turn down, and for a moment I think she might retreat inside her mind. Go back to her flowers. If she does, it’ll be my fault. I don’t believe her calm tone. Not really. Being a witness to all this could push her over the edge. I’m the one who should handle this. I was with Mason when the building burned. I can hold it together while he sets my life on fire. I will.
“Mom, I think this was a mistake. You should leave.”
“Listen to me.” My mom looks me in the eye. “I know you don’t think you can count on me for this. I haven’t been there for you the last few years. That was a mistake. I never should have put you in the position you were in. But we can’t talk about it now. We have to act.”
“By doing what?”
Her expression becomes resolute. “They’re in his office?”
“Yes. Dad sent me out. He didn’t want me in there. He has a gun.” On the desk. Ready to be used by one of them. Mason could die tonight. My father could die. Or all of us.
“Okay.” She pulls me in for a hug.
“Mom, stop.” I grab her arm when she tries to go past me. “They don’t want us to interrupt.”
“They’ll kill each other.” She meets my eyes as she says it. “Those men in there will kill each other if we don’t intervene. I’m going in.”
I can’t deny it. The conversation they’re having won’t last forever. Soon, the words will run out. After that, it’s do or die. I follow her. Of course I do. I’m not going to stand out here while this life-or-death battle plays out like a boardroom meeting. My mother opens the office door, and we go in together.
Her chin lifts like the society queen she used to be. Eyes clear and bright, like they were at the gala. It’s such a rare occasion now. She tries so hard not to focus on her world falling apart around her. I’ve been frustrated by her avoidance. It feels unfair. Irrelevant. This moment is all we have. We were dragged here by the past, by all these terrible circumstances, but my mom holds her head high in the face of it. I’m proud of her.
Until I look over at the desk. Then I’m just terrified. Icy, sharp terror in every shallow breath.
Mason’s holding the gun. My father stands behind his desk, hands trembling.
“He’s not the only one who was responsible,” my mother says, and Mason turns to look at her. His eyes are wells of pain. Mason’s disheveled from the fire. So handsome I could cry. But something else is happening, too. Little flashes in his eyes. Like tonight was too much. “I knew something was wrong with their deaths.” My mother steels herself. “I knew James and Natalie shouldn’t have died like that, and I didn’t go to the police. But don’t hurt Charlotte. She had no part in this.”
Mason’s quiet for a long moment. He studies my mother’s face, looking for all the world like he wants to believe her. To trust her, even. He wants to know what’s true.
I can’t breathe. We’re balanced on the edge of unspeakable violence. Of breathless national news. People would talk about how our bodies were found. We’d be on true crime podcasts, with the hosts going through our history, our private business. I don’t want that for me, even in death. And I don’t want that for Mason. I don’t want them to talk about him like he’s an unhinged murderer. I don’t want them speculating on his life. I don’t want him to hurt anymore. Enough, enough. I could scream.