The train ride home takes approximately forty-seven years. I miss my exit and don’t have enough cash to refill my ticket, so I end up waiting for a hard turn on the train, then falling into a man to snag a ticket from his coat pocket just to get back.
Being right has never felt so awful. Caleb has been following me. Lying since the first night he told me about his new assignment. He was never tracking some potential recruit in Sycamore Township—he was using Myra to spy on me. And that’s even worse, because she doesn’t deserve to be conned.
I doubt she thought twice before trusting him. She’s a nice person, and that’s what nice people do. But it’s also what makes her a perfect mark.
People like her never see people like us coming.
Why couldn’t it have been anyone else? I like Myra. We’re friends—kind of.
Which is exactly why he chose her.
I can’t figure out what he’s trying to learn from her. Whatever he said to win her over must have been smooth. I saw the easy way she approached him. How she flirted with him. I wish I could unsee it.
Distant, the director said. Troubled.
Because Caleb’s conning me, and working my contacts for information. Maybe at Dr. O’s orders.
My mind keeps churning out more questions. How long, and why, and how could I have been so blind? He said he needed to tell me something in the garden, but we’d been kissing awhile before he got to that.
Would he have mentioned Myra, or was that off-limits?
What game is he playing?
I call Charlotte to pick me up from the train station, but I don’t tell her what’s going on. She’s in her own world anyway, and when we get to the house, she goes to study, and I head up the stairs to my room. I don’t see Caleb at dinner, but Henry is back, tight-lipped about his day and the stacks of cash he no longer seems to have. As he and Grayson head into the study to finish the reading on Othello, Sam asks if I’ve heard the news.
“What’s that?” I say.
“Caleb’s on an overnight pass,” he tells me. “Something with his dad. I think he might be in the hospital.”
Worry clenches around my spine. “Who told you that?”
“Heard Moore telling Belk about it.” Sam pulls at the brim of his hat. “I never knew his dad was around. He only talks about his mom.”
Because he’s afraid of jeopardizing his father’s care by screwing up here.
So afraid he’s stealing my marks to get information on me.
I picture his mom and his brothers. Even if I’m on the wrong end of this, I can imagine the sickness Caleb must feel on their behalf if his dad is really going downhill. I hear Caleb telling me about right after the accident, when he and his mom had to make decisions about his dad’s care without knowing what they were dealing with. The powerlessness they all felt when they learned he would be paralyzed and on life support.
And then, with a punch of guilt, I wonder if this overnight pass story is true, or if it’s just some cover for the bigger con he’s really pulling.
And I hate myself for wondering.
I text Caleb as soon as I get back to my room.
What happened? Is your dad ok?
But he doesn’t respond, and the doubt spreads, like a cancer, through my mind.
THE NEXT DAY, Moore drops me off ten minutes early for work. I expect to see Myra waiting tables or downing another giant coffee near her locker when I arrive, but she’s nowhere to be found. Pierre tells me she hasn’t called in, though, so I take my place at the hostess station and wait for her arrival.
I intend to find out everything she knows about Caleb, and what exactly he wants to know from her.
When Mark arrives for the campaign’s afternoon meeting, he barely looks at me, buffering his presence with four other staffers. I’m not sure if human resources has contacted him about his behavior yet, but either way, he’s scared.
Good. He should be.
“What about that church?” one of the senior staff asks as I lead them to their room. She pulls out her phone, scrolling through stories as she weaves around tables. “That man was just arrested this morning for embezzling all that money from them.”
“Perfect,” says the woman behind her, wearing a royal blue Greener Tomorrows with Senator Sterling shirt. “I’ll schedule Matt to speak to the congregation. Something about the importance of community involvement. Standing together in times like these. That should get the press off his ass about the medication bill.”
I stand aside as they filter into the room, catching sight of the first woman’s phone screen as she passes by. A familiar face fills the box on the left side of the screen. The man is pale, grimacing in his orange jumpsuit. His hair is thin and uncombed, and I start as I recognize Luke, Henry’s stepfather.
I only see part of the caption below, but it’s enough. Cash Found in Car …
I see the money Dr. O handed Henry from the safe—the stacks of green bills Henry stuffed into his pockets. I hear Henry’s voice, whispering that he’s cleaning up his mess.
Luke deserved it. He hurt Henry. He went to the cops. Maybe he recognized Grayson before, maybe they showed him a picture once he got there; either way, he threatened everything we have at Vale Hall.
But this feels wrong. Henry was mad at his stepdad, but not mad enough to send him to prison. Dr. O must have pushed him, threatened expulsion maybe.
And Henry went to Grayson last night when he came home. Not to me, or Charlotte, or Sam.
The family I’ve found is unravelling, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I reach for my phone, and I’m scrolling through to find Henry’s name when Myra walks through the door. She’s wearing her heavy coat, her hair windblown but her eyes bright. She smiles at me, and I make myself smile back.
“Is it too much to hope that Jessica hasn’t noticed I’m late?” she says quietly, glancing around the pavilion for our boss. “There was a huge pileup on the highway.”
Two days ago, I would have believed her without question. Now I’m not sure what is truth and what is lie.
“I think she’s too busy to care,” I say. Jessica is in the kitchen, inspecting every plate before it’s served to make sure there are no more health code violations. She got lucky—Mr. Jefferies agreed not to report the Band-Aid due to the long-standing good service he’d received from the club, but Jessica isn’t about to allow another slipup on her watch.
Myra nods and starts to head toward the lockers, but I step in front of her before she can pass. Everything in me is screaming to ask about Caleb.
“Wait,” I say. “Jessica will come out in a minute to recheck the bar—you can slip through the kitchen then.”
She nods. “Good call. Thanks.”
“We should go out sometime,” I say. “You and me.”
Her brows arch. “Why?”
Not exactly the response I was hoping for.
“Um, because it’d be fun to have a girls’ night?”
“Yeah.” Her cheeks take on a pink glow. “That would be awesome. When? Tonight?”
“Tonight’s good for me.”
She does a little shimmy. I wish I didn’t have an ulterior motive.
“Is there something going on?” she asks. “Is there a reason you wanted to get together?”
There’s intention in her tone, and it occurs to me a beat later that she might think this is a date.
“Not really.”
She’s nodding. A lot. “Okay. Cool. Food? Coffee? Ice cream?”
“All of the above? I just thought we could talk.”
“About what?” She’s stopped nodding and is holding my gaze as if expecting a confession of some sort.
I may have approached this wrong.
“I don’t know. We always talk about me. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know where you live.” I lean a little closer. “Or if you’re dating anyone.”
She slumps, and I’m positive now I’ve said the wrong thing. Her expression locks down, and a chilly distance fills the space between us.
“No boyfriend,” she says. “Definitely no boyfriend.”
“Definitely.” I lean against the wooden stand. “That sounds like a story.”
“It isn’t. There was a guy. Now there’s not.”
I think of the way she touched Caleb’s collar. I’d been so sure she was flirting with him, but maybe I misread what had happened. Was he turning her down?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Not nearly as sorry as I am.”
“What happened?”
She takes off her coat. Folds it over one arm. “I screwed things up.”
I can’t help feeling bad for her. Caleb might be playing her, and she’s the one thinking she messed up.
How many people have we screwed up while working a job? I don’t want to add Myra’s name to the growing list of people who hate me.
“He was kind of perfect.” She unbraids her hair and runs her fingers through the black strands. “I miss him.”
Her words echo through me, evoking an image of Caleb on the roof, with a card against his chest that says Trust. I wish I could go back to that moment, before I saw him with Myra when he was supposed to be tailing some recruit in Sycamore Township. Before he and Geri danced together at Family Day. Before I kissed Grayson.
“How’d you meet him?”
Her mouth curves in the tiniest of smiles. “It was at this coffee place near the Rosalind Hotel. He was arguing with the barista about how the building was used in A Love to Remember, you ever seen that movie?”
I shake my head.
She waves a hand. “It’s old. Anyway, he was going on and on about how the building had been used in something like fifteen movies—you could always tell because of the gargoyles hanging off the sides. He was so into it he elbowed me in the arm, and I spilled my coffee all over him.”
“You did?” I laugh, but inside I’m crumbling, because knowing a building by the gargoyles, by the architecture, sounds exactly like Caleb—the real Caleb. The boy I know, not the con.
“Didn’t you know I’m super smooth?” She ducks her head suddenly. “Watch out. The chicken has flown the coop. I repeat, the chicken has flown the coop.”
I follow her gaze to find that Mark is out of the club’s meeting room and is rushing toward us, phone in hand. Everyone he passes stands or follows in curiosity, and though I brace for whatever might come, he continues right by us.
The elevator dings as he reaches it, and Lewis charges out, surrounded by a horde of staffers. Mark pivots as they shove by, trailing after like a stray dog.
“Meeting room!” Lewis barks. The group doesn’t wait for me to seat them today—they storm past, half of them on their phones, all of them looking rattled.
Myra stuffs her coat inside the hostess stand. She’s already wearing her uniform.
“Come on,” she says. “We’d better get over there before Jessica sees us.”
We rush after the group.
There are more people crammed into this room than ever before—I’m sure we’ve got a fire code problem on our hands—and as Myra and I rush to serve waters, even more pack in after us. In a matter of seconds, we’re trapped against the far wall, shoulder to shoulder.
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Myra, as if she would know any better than me. I look for Ben or Emmett, but they both have ended up on the opposite side of the table.
“Quiet down!” calls Lewis.
“I thought he was in Washington,” whispers a middle-aged woman in a Sterling Reputation shirt to a guy in front of me.
“That’s what I heard,” says the guy. “Maybe he snuck out so the press wouldn’t hound him about the bill.”
The heat in the room seems to rise twenty degrees. Sweat beads on my hairline and between my shoulder blades. I don’t think they’re talking about Lewis.
I am trapped in the back corner of this private room, unable to get out, as Jessica escorts Matthew Sterling into the room.
He’s wearing jeans and a heavy black coat. His baseball cap has flattened his dark hair, and the way he rolls the brim in his hands makes him look anxious, and small. Not at all like the powerful senator I met in his home this summer, or the slick politician gracing the walls of this office.
His skin is pallid. He looks sick.
He’s covered up Susan’s death, maybe Jimmy Balder’s, too. He’s threatened and hurt his son. Maybe the pressure is finally getting to him. All I know is he’s dangerous, and he has seen me with Grayson, and if he makes that connection now, I’m positive those detectives he sent to the house will be heading my way.
“Quiet. That’s enough!” Lewis is standing beside him, motioning for us to settle down. I sink behind the man in front of me, trying to keep out of view.
“Hold still,” Myra whispers as I try to turn and hide my face. Her arm hooks in mine, holding me straight.
She has no idea what’s happening here.
“Thank you, Lewis,” says Sterling, his voice rough. “I’m sorry to take you all by surprise, but I can’t help but be moved by the way you’ve all mobilized in light of recent events.”
The room is silent, perched on the edge of a knife.
“I’m sure you all have questions about the recent changes, and I know you’ve probably heard the talk that I’ve sold out, or given in to the lobbyists.”
“Well?”
All eyes shoot to Ben, whose face is glowing red. He doesn’t back down, even when Mark hisses for him to wait his turn.
I keep my gaze on the floor, my heart pounding. Moore told me Sterling would never be here when I was. He was keeping track of when the senator was in Washington and when he was home. Sterling has gotten past everyone to be here today.
I need to get out of here before he sees me, but the door is on the other side of the room, and if I push through the crowd, I’ll draw attention to myself.
Myra’s arm stays linked tightly with mine, anchoring me in place.
“It’s all right,” says Sterling. “I deserve far worse for not preparing you. The truth is the bill was flawed, and pushing it through before it was ready would do a great deal more harm than good. Lewis will be sending an email in the next few hours detailing the pros of my new decision. But I wanted to let you know there will be more changes coming in the coming weeks.”
More changes. Does Dr. O have something to do with that?
Whispers have now risen to a dull roar. Lewis has to quiet everyone down again.
“What kinds of changes?” someone asks.
“Is this in regard to the Greener Tomorrow initiative?”
“What are we supposed to tell people?”
“Are you all right?” It takes a moment to register that Myra is talking to me.
As Sterling begins answering questions, I swipe at the sweat on my temple. “Claustrophobia.”
“It’ll be over soon,” she whispers.
That’s what I’m afraid of.
“Senator? Matthew?”
Sterling’s gone quiet, and at Lewis’s worried tone, I glance back up. Sterling is staring at the table in front of him, his jaw clenched. A bitter desperation crackles through the air, leading those closest to lean away and whisper to each other.
I didn’t hear the last question—someone could have offended him.
He leans forward, hands flat on the table, as if the invisible load he’s carrying is suddenly too heavy to continue. What has Dr. O done to him?
“The brief’s coming soon.” Lewis recovers quickly. “Check your emails. The senator’s obviously been working around the clock. We’ll reconvene in a few hours, but in the meantime, carry on with your instructions. Keep it positive, people. The senator has everyone’s best interests in mind.”
In the stunned silence, Matthew Sterling is ushered from the room by Lewis and Mark, and people gradually begin returning to their stations. Even though the space clears, my breath stays thin and shallow, and I hurry toward the door with Myra chasing after me.
“What’s going on?” she asks as I grab my bag by the phone bank. I look around for Sterling, but he must be with the crowd, gathering at the bar around Lewis.
“I’m not feeling well,” I say. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Disappointment drops her shoulders as I pull my arm from hers. “But what about girls’ night?”
“I … I can’t tonight.”
Before she can ask more, I’m hurrying toward the door, past the framed photo of Grayson and his father on the hostess stand, into the hallway. My shoes squeak across the stepping stones as I make my way toward the elevator, as I watch the light move from 1, to 2, to 3. But right as the doors start to open, I hear the clatter of steps behind me.
“Hold the door.” I turn and see a man with black hair, graying at the sides, wearing a long wool coat. A gold badge gleams from his hip.
Detective Morales.
For one fraction of a second, I weigh my options.
Stay, and talk my way out. He’s got nothing on me—if he did, he would have picked me up during or after the raid.
Run, and I definitely look guilty. But these men have come after Grayson twice before and are willing to do anything to bring him home to the senator.
I bolt.
“Stop!” Morales yells.
Heels slapping against the tiles, I race around the elevator to the emergency exit. He’s close behind as I rip open the door and run down the concrete steps. Grabbing the railing, I skip the last six, leaping to the turnaround. I’m going so fast, I don’t see the other man waiting on the landing of the eighth floor until it’s too late.
“Ease up, there.” The other cop—Simon—grabs my arm. I struggle in his grip, but he just holds me tighter. Above us, the door squeals open.
“What do you want?” I shout.
“Just a minute of your time,” says Simon.
“I told you, I don’t talk to cops.”
“Then maybe you’ll talk to me.”
Before us, Matthew Sterling descends the stairs, Detective Morales just behind him.