1. Chapter One #3
A strange look filled Jessamyn’s face. “It’s funny you should mention that,” she whispered.
Funny?
“I was planning on offering this as a show of my appreciation,” she said, meeting my eye. “But there are things about Samantha’s family you don’t know. Things that even Samantha doesn’t know. If you agree to my terms, I’ll tell you about them.”
The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees.
“You what?”
It came out in a register that shocked me. From the look on Jessamyn’s face, she’d only just now realized what a landmine she’d stepped on.
“Mr. Avery. You don’t understand. Her parents—”
“Don’t say their names in this house.”
“But—”
I couldn’t stop myself. I got in her face.
“We have never said those people’s names in this house, and we are not starting now,” I said, my voice crackling with barely repressed rage. “You keep going down that path, you’re going to get worse than the cops called on you, I swear to God.’
Jessamyn froze. “Forget the job,” she whispered, the color draining from her face.
“Just… just give me money. Enough to start over somewhere. You can pay me in company stock if you want—I know it’ll be worth twice what it is now in the next five years.
I’ll retract everything, I’ll do interviews, I’ll testify against Victoria Ruocchio on record, under oath. Whatever you need.”
I watched her. “And you’ll get me whatever Victoria has on Daniel?”
That was the real prize. Getting Jessamyn to publicly flog herself would help deflate the whole Everything’s A Cult fiasco—plus, it would be extremely entertaining. But getting Marcie’s father out of the range of fire was more important.
“Yes. Absolutely.” She swallowed hard, grabbing for her courage. “Except I need you to protect me.”
“Protect you?”
Jessamyn glanced over her shoulder. “She’s been having me followed,” she hissed.
“I think her goons broke into my apartment while I was gone—some stuff was moved and I don’t remember moving it.
If I go public—if I jump ship and start defending you—she’s going to come after me. You know what I mean.”
I scoffed. “She cultivates that Mafia stuff on purpose,” I said. “Victoria Ruocchio is not going to kill you.”
You’re not worth the trouble, I thought but didn’t say.
Jessamyn’s mouth worked soundlessly. “I know I’m a terrible person,” she said.
“I fell for a pair of charismatic narcissists. I hurt Samantha. Multiple times. I probably deserve to lose Delta Rho.” She glanced at me, her eyes wide with fright.
“But I do not deserve to be dumped off a Ruocchio fishing boat!”
I managed not to roll my eyes.
“Shield me from that woman, give me enough money that I can go do something else with my life, and I will do whatever you want. I’ll get you her ace in the hole. And you—and Samantha—will never have to deal with me again.”
I thought about it. Glanced down at the portfolio in my hand, with Jessamyn’s pre-written confession and a notary’s seal.
Then I looked at her.
“You know what my babygirl told me about you?” I asked.
That landed. Whatever courage Jessamyn Fawkes brought with her to this meeting, she hadn’t braced herself for a question like that.
“What?” she whispered.
I thought back to that afternoon in the apartment, just Samantha and me. Her curled up next to me in the bedsheets, post-coital, unspooling the thread connecting her parents to all the worst events in her life.
“She told me,” I said thickly, “that you used to be a good person.”
I let that hang.
“She told me that, Jessamyn,” I said, my voice filling with scorn.
“The girl you spent half a podcast episode calling a grooming victim. The one you tried to get expelled from her own sorority. She told me there used to be a version of you that was worth knowing.” I paused. “I have a hard time believing that.”
Jessamyn’s jaw worked. A single tear beaded in her eye.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said. “You’re going to write your contact information on this confession. Then you’re going to get the fuck out of my house.”
“Mr. Avery—”
“I’m not deciding any of this right now,” I told her.
“It’s two in the goddamned morning and you need to go back to wherever you came from before the women of this house wake up and realize you’re here.
At some point tomorrow, after Morning Harbor, I’m going to have a conversation with Mona Isringhausen about this.
My lawyer will be present.” I paused. “So will Yukiko. And we will decide what we’re going to do with this information. Do you understand?”
A beat.
“Yes,” she said.
“Good,” I said, opening the portfolio. “Do you have a pen, or do I need to get one out of the kitchen…?”
Something creaked on the stairs.
Both Jessamyn and I froze. For a moment I dared hope it was just the house settling—then another thump sounded and I knew it was anything but. Those were footsteps.
Moving fast.
I flipped the foyer light off without thinking, praying the darkness would buy us five more seconds of time. “You need to leave,” I told Jessamyn, forgetting all about the contact info. “Go, now—”
But it was already too late.
A figure stormed down the stairs. To my surprise it was Marcie, clutching the baseball bat from the bedroom closet the way a caveman probably held a club before going off to hunt a woolly mammoth.
Even in the dim light I could see her eyes were wild with fear and adrenaline, her blonde hair a messy halo around her head.
I hadn’t seen her this disheveled since the night I cold-cocked Trevor Baines on the second floor of the Delta Rho sorority house. The night Marcie stirred awake from the cocktail of drugs she’d been dosed with and asked me why she was dreaming I’d come to Stillwell to save her.
“WHO GOES THERE!?” she shouted, waving the bat. “Jack!? Jack, are you okay?”
“Babygirl, it’s okay,” I said, fumbling behind my back for the doorknob. “I’m fine, there’s nothing to worry about—”
Marcie hit the light switch.
The living room and the foyer lit up like the noonday sun, the sudden brightness forcing us all to squint.
She saw me first. I watched Marcie’s expression fill with relief as she realized I was safe and unhurt. She started to lower the baseball bat.
Then she saw Jessamyn Fawkes.
And the bat came right back up again.
For a long, long second, nobody moved.
“Jessamyn?” Marcie blurted. “What the fuck—”
More footsteps reached the stairs. The whole house was awake now.
God help us.