Chapter 9
Dad looked smaller behind the glass.
No suit.
No watch.
No wedding ring.
Just gray jail clothes and tired eyes.
Mom sat beside me.
Daniel stood near the door.
A guard placed a phone beside Dad.
I picked up mine.
Dad lifted his slowly.
“Hi, Em.”
I hated the nickname.
I loved the nickname.
I didn’t know which feeling was worse.
“Hi.”
His eyes moved to Mom.
“Sarah.”
Mom didn’t touch her phone.
This wasn’t her meeting.
Dad looked back at me.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
That made me angrier.
“Stop agreeing with everything.”
Dad looked surprised.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry.”
He closed his mouth.
I gripped the phone.
“Why did you hit me?”
Mom’s hand tightened around mine.
Dad looked down.
“There isn’t a good answer.”
“I didn’t ask for a good answer.”
His eyes filled.
“I was angry.”
“At me?”
“At everything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
I waited.
He finally looked at me.
“I spent years believing that if I scared everyone enough, I could stop my life from falling apart.”
“So you scared us.”
“Yes.”
“Mom.”
“Yes.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“You were supposed to protect us.”
“I know.”
I slammed my hand against the table.
“Stop saying you know!”
A guard moved.
Daniel raised a hand.
I was crying now.
Dad cried too.
I didn’t care.
“You hit me.”
“I did.”
“I was trying to help Mom.”
“I know.”
“You looked at me and hit me.”
Dad covered his eyes.
“I will remember that for the rest of my life.”
“So will I.”
He lowered his hand.
The words hurt him.
Good.
I hated thinking that.
But it was true.
“Did you know Grandma Diane was watching us?”
“Yes.”
“For eight years?”
“Yes.”
“You let her?”
“For most of it.”
“Why?”
“Because I was weak.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
I remembered what Mom had said.
“Because you chose.”
Dad went still.
“You chose her.”
“Yes.”
“You chose Grandpa Vincent.”
“Yes.”
“You chose money.”
“Yes.”
“You chose yourself.”
He whispered, “Yes.”
I breathed hard.
“And you still say you loved us?”
Dad stared through the glass.
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“That’s stupid.”
A strange smile crossed his face through the tears.
“Probably.”
“No.”
I pressed the phone tighter.
“If you loved us, you should have acted like it.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“You’re right.”
This time I didn’t yell at him for agreeing.
I asked, “Did you tell Officer Ellison to shoot me?”
Dad’s eyes snapped open.
“No.”
“Did Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
Mom stiffened.
Dad continued.
“He ordered Ellison to kill your mother if she testified.”
“What about me?”
Dad swallowed.
“Ellison was told to take you.”
My stomach twisted.
“Take me where?”
“To Diane.”
Mom picked up her phone.
“You knew this?”
Dad looked at her.
“Not until the courthouse.”
“You were working with them.”
“I was trying to get away by then.”
Mom laughed.
“After the federal agents arrived.”
“Yes.”
“After you tried to drown me.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Mom stared at him.
“You don’t get credit for changing sides after you lost.”
“I know.”
She put the phone down.
Dad looked at me.
“I screamed because Ellison wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”
I felt sick.
“You say that like it makes it better.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Nothing makes it better.”
“No.”
I looked at him for a long time.
Then I asked the question I had really come to ask.
“Was any of it real?”
Dad’s face broke.
“What?”
“Christmas.”
“Yes.”
“Fishing.”
“Yes.”
“Teaching me to ride my bike.”
“Yes.”
“Reading to me.”
“Yes.”
“Making pancakes.”
“Yes.”
“Calling me your little star.”
Dad began crying harder.
“Yes.”
“Then why ruin it?”
He pressed his forehead against the glass.
“Because I thought I could keep two families.”
Mom went still.
Dad continued.
“I thought I could be Vincent’s son and your father.”
He looked at Mom.
“Diane’s loyal boy and Sarah’s husband.”
Then back at me.
“I thought I could lie to everyone and never choose.”
His voice cracked.
“But every lie was a choice.”
I stared at him.
That was the first thing he said that made sense.
“Are you going to prison?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Years?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe until I’m grown?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Mom.
She was crying silently.
I turned back.
“I don’t want to visit you.”
Dad nodded.
“I understand.”
“I don’t want letters.”
His face twisted.
“Okay.”
“I don’t want birthday cards.”
He closed his eyes.
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you calling Mom.”
“Okay.”
I started crying again.
“But I don’t want you dead.”
Dad covered his mouth.
“I don’t either.”
I wiped my face.
“I loved you.”
He whispered, “I love you.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He looked confused.
“You don’t get to use that to make me feel guilty.”
His face crumpled.
“I’m sorry.”
I almost yelled again.
Instead I said, “I know.”
Then I put down the phone.
Dad stood suddenly.
“Emily.”
I could hear his voice faintly through the glass even without the phone.
I walked toward the door.
He pressed his hand against the glass.
For one second I almost turned.
Then Mom took my hand.
We left.
Outside, I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.
Mom sat on the floor with me in the hallway.
Daniel stood nearby.
Nobody told me to calm down.
Nobody told me Dad deserved my tears.
Nobody told me he didn’t.
Mom just held me.
Eventually I whispered, “I’m done.”
She kissed my head.
“I know.”
Ryan Hale entered a cooperation agreement three days later.
The prosecutors did not erase his charges.
They reduced nothing involving the assault on Mom or me.
But they agreed to consider his assistance at sentencing.
Ryan testified before a grand jury.
He gave them names.
Judges.
Police officers.
Prison employees.
Accountants.
Business owners.
People who had accepted Vincent Hale’s money for years.
Officer Ellison confessed too.
He admitted helping Ryan escape.
He admitted bringing Diane into the courthouse.
He admitted taking over one hundred thousand dollars.
Then came Diane.
She refused everything.
She called Dad weak.
She called Mom a criminal.
She called Grandma Linda pathetic.
She called me ungrateful.
When prosecutors played Vincent’s farmhouse confession for her, she laughed.
When they showed her Dad’s storage-unit recordings, she stopped laughing.
Grandma Linda was charged with obstruction and conspiracy for giving information to Diane.
Her lawyer argued she had later cooperated and saved Mom.
The government agreed.
She still had to answer for what she had done.
Mom attended her hearing.
I didn’t.
When Mom returned, I asked, “What happened?”
“She pleaded guilty.”
“Is she going to prison?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you sad?”
“Yes.”
“Are you glad?”
“No.”
“Are you angry?”
“Yes.”
I frowned.
Mom smiled sadly.
“Families are complicated.”
“That’s annoying.”
She laughed.
For the first time in days, it sounded real.
Then it was Vincent Hale’s turn.
The emergency challenge to his old conviction collapsed.
His own confession had destroyed it.
But he now faced new charges too.
Escape.
Bribery.
Conspiracy.
Witness intimidation.
Attempted kidnapping.
More.
Mom was called to testify again before the grand jury.
This time she walked in without hiding any part of herself.
She told them about the invoices.
The deleted files.
The money.
Her father.
Her mother.
Dad.
Everything.
Weeks passed.
Then Daniel came to our temporary apartment carrying a folder.
Mom’s face went pale.
“What?”
He sat down.
“Prosecutors made a decision regarding your old conduct.”
I grabbed Mom’s hand.
She looked at him.
“And?”
“They are not bringing new criminal charges.”
Mom stopped breathing.
“Why?”
“Statute issues on some conduct. Your prior cooperation on others. And because you voluntarily corrected the record before the government confronted you with the Millbrook evidence.”
Mom covered her face.
I started crying.
“So Mom doesn’t go to jail?”
Daniel smiled at me.
“No.”
I threw my arms around her.
Mom cried into my hair.
Daniel waited.
Then said, “There is one more thing.”
Mom looked up.
“What?”
“Your witness-protection status.”
She stiffened.
“What about it?”
“The threat landscape has changed.”
“Vincent is in custody.”
“Yes.”
“Diane too.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“Several members of the network remain under investigation.”
Mom’s smile disappeared.
“So we run again.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Not necessarily.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have options.”
“For the first time?”
“For the first time in a while.”
Mom looked at me.
“What options?”
“New identity. New location. Full relocation.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Again.”
“Or enhanced protection while retaining your current identity.”
“What current identity?”
“Sarah Bennett.”
Mom looked shocked.
Her real name.
The name she had lost and found again.
Daniel continued.
“There are risks.”
“I know.”
“You would need strict security for a while.”
“I know.”
“You would need to move.”
Mom nodded.
“But I wouldn’t have to become someone else?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“And Emily?”
“She could remain Emily Bennett if you choose.”
My heart jumped.
“Bennett?”
Mom smiled.
“That was my name before I married your father.”
“Can it be mine?”
“If you want.”
I thought about Walker.
Dad’s fake name.
A name chosen to hide who he really was.
Then Bennett.
Mom’s name.
Grandpa Thomas’s name too, unfortunately.
But Mom seemed to understand.
“A name doesn’t belong only to the people who hurt us,” she said.
I looked at her.
“It can mean what we make it mean.”
I smiled.
“Emily Bennett.”
Mom began crying again.
Daniel pretended not to notice.
Then his phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His face turned serious.
“What?”
Mom asked.
He looked up.
“Vincent requested a meeting.”
“With who?”
Daniel hesitated.
“You.”
Mom laughed.
“No.”
“He says he has information about an active threat.”
Mom’s expression changed.
“What threat?”
“He won’t tell anyone else.”
“Then he can keep it.”
Daniel nodded.
“That was my recommendation.”
He stood.
Then his phone buzzed again.
He read the message.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Mom asked again.
Daniel handed her the phone.
A single sentence had been sent through Vincent’s attorney.
ASK SARAH WHERE RYAN’S BROTHER IS.
Mom stared.
I looked at her.
“Dad has a brother?”
Mom whispered, “Not that I knew.”
Daniel took the phone back.
Then another message arrived.
This one contained a name.
MICHAEL HALE.
May you like
And underneath it:
HE HAS BEEN WATCHING EMILY LONGER THAN ANY OF US.
