Chapter 33 Saturday, 13 June 2026 #5
‘Hannah.’ Gemma was at the door now. ‘I’ve thought this through, every angle.
They won’t find Oliver’s DNA on Madison’s glass, or the remote.
What they have on him, it’s thin. He’ll probably get off in the end, if the case even goes to trial.
Which is honestly too bad, because after what he did to me senior year, he deserves what he gets.
If he goes down for Paul’s crime, so be it. ’
Gemma pushed through the front door of the bar, onto the sidewalk. Hannah followed. A black sedan pulled up to the kerb, and in one slick motion, Gemma opened the back door and tossed her suitcase inside.
‘Thank you, Hannah.’ Gemma gave her a broad, toothy smile as she slipped inside and lowered the window. ‘It was good to get this all off my chest.’
‘Gemma—’ Hannah lunged at the door, but it was too late. It was locked, and the handle wrenched from Hannah’s grasp as the sedan peeled out into traffic.
For the next two hours, Hannah sat on the soft grey couch in the living room of her Bushwick apartment and tried everything she could think of to track Gemma down.
The magazine’s contact at the NYPD ran the sedan’s plates, as a favour, but either Hannah had got them wrong in her rush to memorise the string of letters and numbers, or the plate had been a fake.
Gemma’s phone was switched off too, making it untraceable.
Gemma had said she’d been heading home to LA, via LaGuardia, but had that even been true?
Three airports flew out of New York, plus the train and bus stations.
Gemma could have been headed to any one of them, then to any destination.
In fact, LaGuardia was almost certainly the one place she had not been going.
Did you know LaGuardia is nice now? She’d made a point to name the airport, then say something that would stick in Hannah’s mind – an insurance policy, in case Hannah figured out the truth.
It was all moot anyway, because none of the major airlines would give out passenger information, if Gemma was even flying under her own name. She was simply gone. Poof.
Gemma could have lied, about everything. But she’d chosen to tell Hannah the truth. Because she’d known a car was waiting for her around the corner… Because she’d always been planning to disappear. And with her, she’d taken Hannah’s only shot at justice for Oliver.
Maybe Gemma was right, maybe the case against him wouldn’t hold up. But what if it did?
Heart pounding, she let her head fall against the back of the sofa.
She’d contact Oliver’s lawyers, tell them everything she knew.
But it was only a story. With nothing to back it up, it wouldn’t be enough.
Fuck. If Oliver went to jail, it would be her fault.
Because she’d been trying to save herself, yes.
But also because she’d been dead set on being right. The one to figure it out.
It was the middle of the night when Hannah’s phone pinged, waking her from a shallow, uneasy sleep. She scrabbled for it on her nightstand, then opened her messages. The notification was from an unfamiliar number. She tapped it open.
A link appeared, the URL to a secure site. Then a second text.
I was voice recording the entire time on the roof.
I hoped he’d say something incriminating about our student–teacher relationship, instead I got a whole ass murder confession.
I was going to leave Oliver to rot, the traitor deserves it.
But you looked so stricken, I guess I’ve grown a conscience.
At the end of the day, I’m a coward, but I know you’ll do the right thing. Password’s fuckpaulharris17.
It’s not too late.
Hannah typed quickly, fingers fumbling over the keys, still half-asleep.
You can plead self-defence.
You don’t have to disappear.
Gemma.
Wait.
A series of little red exclamation points appeared on the screen. Not Delivered. Not Delivered. Not Delivered.
Hannah dropped her phone on the bed. Assuming the recording was what Gemma said it was, she’d sent Hannah what she needed.
She could fix what she’d broken, get the charges against Oliver dropped.
Perhaps Gemma had been right. She could very well have gone down for Paul Harris’s murder if she’d stayed.
Even with the audio recording, it would be hard to prove exactly what had happened between the two of them on the roof.
Or maybe it had never been self-defence at all. Maybe Gemma had seen an opportunity and taken it.
Hannah switched on the light and clicked on the link.
Gemma’s voice flooded her ears, followed by Mr Harris’s.
The recording was clear; not much background noise that early on a Saturday morning.
The conversation was just as Gemma had described; it was what Hannah needed to clear Oliver’s name.
As it played, she let her eyelids fall shut.
She imagined her old friend connecting through Reykjavik, then jetting off to Fiji. Or Bali. Or maybe the Azores.
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
‘Bye, now,’ she whispered. ‘Take care.’