16. Luke

The dim light of the TV in the guest house turned Harriet's darkened living room cave-like. With the windows cracked, the trill of sea birds and the distant crash of the ocean filtered in. We'd muted the Pixar movie my nieces had begged us to watch since they were passed out now—Lizzie with her head in Harriet's lap and Rory on my chest. I kept my breathing slow and even, worried I'd startle her awake. Every so often we could hear the soft crackle of walkie-talkies from the pair of security guards stationed at the front door.

One of the guards was mine, a completely silent woman who was even more stoic than Elijah. And the other was part of the team that now protected Harriet, my nieces, and Harriet's mother, Lois. After I'd seen that picture of me and Elijah post car bomb, I'd asked for my sister to be added to their roster.

If I was being followed even part of the time, then it was likely they knew of Harriet's existence and where she lived. Risking my own life was one thing. I wouldn't put the people I loved the most in danger just so I could get revenge.

Turned out Elijah had been infuriatingly right the other day.

You wouldn't bungee jump with only half a rope. So why take on a job with a giant target on your back and be so cavalier about your own safety?

My scowling babysitter in a bespoke suit had been right about a lot lately. And in these past ninety-six hours without him, I'd missed him so much I'd found myself pacing my father's office like a wild cougar trapped in a zoo.

It used to be that on days like this, I'd spend hours in the ocean, coaching clients how to surf while burning off my own excess energy. Then I'd borrow one of our Jet Skis and jump waves until I scratched as much of the itch as I could, soothed by the combination of fear and euphoria I sought out like a drug.

Instead, I'd spent four days chasing down clues and tearing through my father's office, searching for some fucking flash drive I wasn't even sure actually existed. I'd gotten so frustrated I'd moved my search into Dad's library, leaving a tornado swath of mess along the way.

I found no obvious signs of blackmail, although I was pretty sure that was on purpose. Adrian, the former assistant, still hadn't returned my calls. My brother was surly and silent when our paths crossed at the office. The only decent headway I'd made was researching the tidal wetlands near Rodanthe Hills, as well as the properties built there by TBG fifteen years ago.

The houses were massive, garish, completely out of place in what was considered one of the only fishing communities left in the Hamptons. The town itself was small and sleepy, mostly locals who never saw the same surge in tourists the rest of us did. And what Ethel and Clarita had said was true—the environmental impact on the tidal wetlands had been devastating.

Per the city council meeting minutes I'd scanned, as well as some quick internet research, Clarence Craven was still furious and looking for ways to reverse the damage and restore the delicate ecosystem there.

I could find nothing interesting about the permits. According to records, the permitting process was official and above board. But it would make sense, if my father traded in secrets, for him to have held some kind of leverage over whoever made it happen.

The question being—how would I ever discover who that person was?

Elijah's face flashed through my thoughts—the quiet disgust etched into his features that day on the beach. You're so shocked that your dad was keeping secrets as leverage, but what the hell are you doing to me, Lucas?

He'd cut right through my bullshit without batting an eye and I'd fucking deserved it. And my uneasy nerves had been jumpy with guilt ever since.

My sister beamed down at her phone, her face illuminated by the screen in the darkness. Her pink hair was in a long braid, and she wore a faded, crewneck sweatshirt from the South Shore Bookshop.

"I knew you weren't watching A Bug's Life," I whispered. "You were texting Kat, weren't you?"

"Maybe," she teased. "I can't help it if she's obsessed with me."

I huffed. "Ignoring your only brother so you can text your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend. Yet. Though she did have some questions when I showed up to our last date with a bodyguard in tow," she replied, using two fingers to tweeze a potato chip from the open bag between us. "I'd like to think it increases my air of mystery. I appreciate the extra bit of safety though."

Rory shifted on my chest, tucking her tiny fist against her mouth. "I'll double it, triple it, if necessary. Just say the word."

"I'm not worried about us, Luke. I'm worried about you."

"I'm totally fine," I said, scoffing.

"Are you though?" She leaned in closer, pinned me with a look. "The car bomb was bad enough, but now you're being followed? Possibly by some guy named Clarence that Lincoln pissed off years ago? If this man is holding onto a grudge that old, he must have nothing left to lose."

"Neither did Dad," I said. "That's why I'm in this mess, especially now that we know he was operating some kind of…elite blackmail operation." I shook my head. "None of this behavior prevented him from amassing money and power to get what he wanted. But there weren't any consequences for his actions."

Harriet's face softened. "He lost you. That's a pretty big one."

"Yeah, well, he lost you too, and that's even worse. You're a much better human than I am. Then you had the gall to go and make even better humans."

Her answering smile was sad at the edges. "I don't know if I'm that great. I fed those better humans hot fudge sundaes for dinner."

I cracked a smile. "That's on me, sis. I brought the supplies over." The TV flickered, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes. When I'd walked in tonight, she'd shoved what looked like a pile of overdue medical bills under a potted plant. I reached over and touched her hand.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Definitely." She glanced down at Lizzie and kissed the top of her head. "Listen, I know you don't want to hear it again, but I really think you should drop this. All of it. Digging through Lincoln's shit. Chasing down former enemies. All you're doing is drawing attention to yourself, and it's going to get you hurt—or worse— by whoever's threatening you."

The static of radios had us turning to the door. For a brief, foolish moment I hoped that Elijah was back, in which case I could point and say See? My life's not in danger because Elijah swore he was my shield.

Instead, the moment passed—although Harriet still wore a look of sisterly concern.

"What about riding it out?" she said. "Just chill, let the board handle most of the job, collect the trust in three years and get out of there alive." She grabbed my wrist and squeezed. "I hate that you have to be there, Luke. I really do. I know how it affects you and I'm not suggesting this lightly. But is it really worth risking your life over?"

I thought about my mom, chasing me and Preston into the waves with zucchinis for talons, laughing as the sun lit her from behind. How big and strong she'd seemed then, untouchable and everlasting. As permanent a fixture on this earth as the ocean that she loved.

How quickly my father decided we'd all pretend she'd never existed after she died.

"Riding it out means no one…no one ever knows the real truth of who my father was," I said, my throat crowded with grief. "Riding it out means I go quietly, like I always have. I let him pay for NYU, let him pay for my apartment there. And sure, I didn't spend my graduation money the way I was supposed to, but I still took it. All while keeping my mouth shut about his many sins. Maybe I could have gotten him to help you, to help your mom. I could have done more, period."

Harriet sent me a pained look. "Nothing could have made that man behave differently. Not you, not anyone else."

I considered my next words carefully, fighting the urge to fidget. "I saw you hide your mom's bills when I walked in."

She wrinkled her nose, shrugged. "I never wanted a good credit score anyway."

"Harry."

"Luke."She brushed a lock of Rory's hair from her forehead. "Some battles I can fight on my own. You know that, right?"

"Of course," I said with a wince. "Of course I do."

"If the situation becomes dire, you'll be the first to know," she continued. "It's not always about the money. Yes, I need financial support right now and I'm never too proud to ask for it or receive it. But when I contacted you all those years ago, I wasn't looking for some handout. I wanted someone to see what he'd done to us, to affirm that I wasn't completely unhinged for reacting so negatively whenever I saw Lincoln Beaumont in the newspaper looking like a goddamn Kennedy. Completely untouchable."

I nodded eagerly. "That's why I'm doing all of this. You have to believe me."

"I do believe you." She clutched at my hand. "But Luke, what I really got from messaging you that day was a brother. A best friend. Someone I love to the moon and back. All the other stuff I was feeling I had to work on by myself. Acknowledging pain is just the beginning, because nothing can change how he treated us. Nothing can change the past, and that's the shittiest part of all. All we can do is accept what we can, love who we can, and fight for a better future."

I dropped my gaze and let her words sink in, poking and prodding at every secret part of myself I longed to avoid. Acceptance didn't come easily, especially when it came to my father, but having him reenact one of his psychotic mind games on me and Preston even after he'd died had been too much. Whatever meager healing I'd found over the years had shattered as soon as the lawyers made it clear he'd done all of this on purpose.

I cleared my throat and plucked at a loose thread on the couch cushion. "Elijah and I argued the other day. He, uh…he said I was like Dad."

Her eyebrows flew up. "Who, your bodyguard?"

"He's not mine. I mean, he's mine technically but he's not…" I stopped when I realized she was smirking. "Anyway, I fucked up. Elijah was by my dad's side for five years and I thought he'd be able to help me build this case against him, you know? But he didn't want to do that because Elijah lives his life by a strict code of honor and morality the likes of which hasn't been seen since the Middle Ages…"

"Luke," my sister chided, "where is this going?"

I avoided her gaze again. "I kinda…sorta…threatened to fire him and all of his colleagues if he didn't agree to help me dig up dirt on my dad. So when Ethel and Clarita confirmed that he routinely used blackmail to get his way…" I shrugged. "Elijah told me I was no better than he was."

Harriet was silent in response, probably enjoying watching me squirm.

"I definitely fucked up. I know I did. But also…do you think I'm like him? Some manipulative narcissist using people to get his way all the time?"

She laughed softly and handed me a chip from the bag. "I believe that people will do some desperate things for the people that they love. And I believe that you're one of those people, Luke."

I placed my hand on Rory's back and felt her tiny rib cage expanding with each precious breath.

"Which makes you nothing like Lincoln. And yet"—her smile was devilish—"you absolutely fucked up."

My head fell back against the cushion as I sighed. "I knew it. I'm such a dipshit."

"A lovable dipshit. But yes, yes you are."