Thirty-Two
SCOOT OVER, SCOOT OVER.”
Kevin pleasantly addresses Deonte while clambering into the van. Deonte, appearing to not entirely understand the situation, nevertheless recognizes its volatility. He repositions, offering Kevin only inches of space, which, of course, Kevin seizes. Our interloper puts his hand out in Deonte’s direction.
“What’s up? I’m Kevin,” he says.
Deonte regards Kevin Webber for a moment. Then he looks at me, his eyes saying, Fix this.
As if I needed the encouragement.
“Kevin, just fifteen minutes ago, you screwed us all over massively. We do not want to hang out with you,” I say, reaching for the right combination of rational, retaliatory, and understanding. He’s not wrong—he is the only person outside the crew who knows our whereabouts, which is powerful information. I certainly don’t want to emphasize how powerful it is, which kissing up to him would do.
I also just would never want to do that.
Kevin only shrugs, not stung in the least. Honestly, his resilience for rejection is some kind of superpower. I wonder if he was bitten by a radioactive loser. “Whatever. I have information you may find interesting, though. Plus, you really can’t trust me. I’ve seen all your faces now,” he points out. “Kinda have no choice except to include me in the friend group!”
“This isn’t a friend group,” Tom explains witheringly. “We’re here for a job. One you just made way harder.”
Unlike Deonte and Cass, he has classmate experience with Kevin Webber. It sharpens his eagerness to lash out at Kevin when he doesn’t have to play my effete paramour in front of Lexi.
“You hang out a lot, though,” Kevin argues.
“Dude, we’re working,” Deonte says more gently.
“I would like to state for the record I don’t hang out with teenagers recreationally,” McCoy adds.
Kevin shakes his head with confident skepticism. “Nah. You’re all on a group chat. I saw it during my kidnapping.”
“It’s a work group chat,” Cass clarifies.
“I saw emojis,” Kevin replies, the prosecutor with his key evidence.
“It’s code,” Cass says slowly. Her voice is a glass knife, fragile and deadly. I feel for her with acute guilt—her part of The Plan was intended to involve no guest contact, unique among the crew.
Of course, none of The Plan was intended to involve quite as much Kevin Webber as has occurred.
Kevin frowns doubtfully. However, he lets the point drop, looking to me instead. “I’ll give you some information free of charge,” he offers. “So you know I’m legit.”
Oh, great. More negotiating.“Kevin, how many different ways do I need to say—”
“Dash and Maureen don’t have a prenup.”
The volunteered information silences me instantly.
In fact, my mind nearly shuts down under the weight of comprehension. “There’s no way that’s true,” I get out.
It’s wildly unrealistic, almost flat-out impossible. My father, media emperor and intergenerational wealth hoarder, wouldn’t overlook this procedural detail when marrying an obviously money-hungry woman decades his junior.
Kevin crosses his arms, cocky. He’s messing with me, I decide. He’s worked out exactly what kind of fake reveal would entice me. “It is. I don’t know if my dad really realizes I listen when he complains. Of course he doesn’t want Dash’s money going to Maureen when they divorce. It’s less for him.”
While lying isn’t beneath Kevin, if what he’s offering is true, it’s something I definitely need to look into. Why would he marry Maureen with no prenup?
Past the possibility’s obvious illogic, I can’t help wrestling with how he insisted on the legal protection, with its inherent suspicion, even when he married my mom. There’s no way he loves this girl more than her, right?
Right?
Kevin watches me, oblivious to the information’s emotional impact. While I’m caught up in contemplation, Cass speaks.
“Is it possible Dash cheated on Lexi with Maureen?” she asks slowly. Her demeanor is completely changed. I recognize the image of myself in how the riddle has consumed her. “Could it be that simple? Is Maureen the evidence we need to give Lexi? Maybe he’s pined for her for years. What if he’s just so confident in the marriage he doesn’t even want the prenup?”
I consider her questions. It would fit Dash’s pattern, no doubt. Cheating, marrying, cheating, marrying. But it feels too neat.
Still, the lack of prenup means something. I don’t want to reject possibilities out of hand, not when I have nothing else to go on right now.
“New plan,” I announce.
I look around at my crew, my chess club, cataloging our recent setbacks. Regret hits me in a flash of clarity. Not for the mess we’re in, not for my lack of foresight. No, I regret how, in all my rerouting and recalibrating, I’ve forgotten something essential. I have the greatest asset I could ever want right now—them.
Knight, Pawn, Rook, and Queen have risen to challenges and executed everything I expected and more. While The Plan is mine, the heist is ours.
“McCoy, ditch the security cover,” I say. “If they’re onto you, you’re in trouble anyway. You have a new job.”
He visibly braces himself. “Please don’t make me take anyone hostage.”
“You’ll be attending the rest of the wedding as a guest. A beloved teacher of Maureen’s,” I elaborate.
His face clouds. “But I didn’t teach Maureen.”
“And as long as you don’t talk to the bride herself, no one needs to know. You’re a Berkshire teacher. Formerly,” I amend apologetically. “Get in with her parents and try to get a more detailed timeline on the happy couple’s courtship. You will, um”—I hesitate, working out the logistics—“have to shave your beard.”
“Oh, thank god.” Tom exhales.
I look to Deonte. “You’re stuck at the wedding for now. Lose the jacket, go inside, and avoid catering staff. You’re here to personally apologize to Quinn for spilling on him. Make the inroad.”
“The inroad?” Deonte repeats. “The guy is an asshole.”
I nod, anticipating the objection. “He is. And he most likely was just fired because of what you did. Explain to him the champagne incident got you fired, too. Complain about Jackson since he so eagerly took the fall for it. Commiserate. Get a drink with him, et cetera, et cetera. From one unemployed guy to another.”
Deonte evaluates. I see it in his eyes—he knows the premise would work. He just needs to sell it.
“You’re popular. People like you,” I press him. “Loosen Quinn up. Chat with him. Get what you can on Maureen from him.”
“I only agreed to bake and spill some champagne,” he reminds me plaintively.
“Well, if money isn’t incentive enough,” I reply, “if you stick around, you’ll get to taste your cake.”
Now I know he’s convinced. As if it’s just occurred to him, he glances up, speaking to the crew. “Y’all better get slices and leave me good reviews on Yelp when I open my shop.”
I face Cass. “I’ll investigate Abigail Pierce online,” she says, preempting me. “See what I can find. But I’ll need to change locations—I can’t stay in this van with catering coming back soon.”
“Right.” I follow her point, chasing the solution from the garage’s concrete walls into the elegant corridors of the estate. “We’ll have to move you into the house. My former room should be sufficiently private,” I say.
“What about me?” Tom asks.
His enthusiasm is welcome. “I’m so sorry, Tom. We have to break up,” I inform him dryly. “Loudly and in public.”
He puts a hand over his heart, mock wounded. Romeo in a storage van. “Olivia, why? We were so happy.”
I can’t help laughing a little. “I need a seat at the head table,” I say regretfully.
Tom’s eyes widen. “You… sure you want to involve him?” he asks.
“Involve who?” Kevin interjects, intrigued.
“No, but it’s my best option,” I say to Tom. “As Dash’s daughter, I’m relegated to the family table. I need a promotion in the wedding hierarchy.”
“And I’ll get more info from my dad on the prenup if I can,” Kevin offers.
I narrow my eyes at him, although honestly, I’m conflicted. I don’t like him inserting himself in The Plan. However, I can’t deny the value in what he’s proposing. Grudgingly, I nod, and Kevin fist pumps.
“After I’m kicked to the curb, I’ll keep an eye on Kevin,” Tom reassures me.
I don’t hide my relief. “Good.”
Kevin isn’t offended. In fact, he looks delighted. “Sweet, we’re partners,” he exclaims. “Like Batman and Robin. Mario and Luigi. Master Shifu and Po.”
Tom gives him a blank look.
“My guy,” Kevin responds urgently. “We have got to watch Kung Fu Panda after this.”
I don’t want the discussion to devolve further. “Okay, everyone knows what they’re doing?” I interrupt them.
The crew nods, including Kevin, who looks as if I’ve just signed him up for the Avengers. I guess I’m glad he’s committed.
“Perfect,” I go on. “While it pains me, I’m adding Kevin to the group chat.”
“Yes!” When Kevin claps in excitement, Cass winces. “What’s my code name? You’re all chess pieces, right? It’s perfect,” he enthuses. “Six pieces, six people. Which one haven’t you used?”
Deonte shakes his head firmly. “No way. You have to earn Bishop by not betraying us,” he reprimands Kevin. “You can be Assface.”
“Okay, okay,” Kevin replies unflappably. “A little hazing is often part of a new friend group. Assface, I shall be,” he declares.
Tom presses his mouth closed on repressed laughter. Even I’m having difficulty remaining stone-faced.
“I’m pumped,” Kevin says to the group, as if we’ve just offered him the entire multimillion-dollar score. “I’ve always wanted to be in a group chat.”