I turn back to the computer, determined to get in. I try a few more random words and phrases I associate with Brad, and when nothing comes up, I think back. Brad is too big of an egomaniac to ever pick a password at random, so it would have to mean something . . .

A thought flashes like a thunderstorm through my brain, and I type the words together:

B R A D U P R I S I N G

It’s the film he worked on while I was an assistant—featuring the first client he flat-out stole.

Password accepted.

God, what a dick.

I search his hard drive for any of the companies that showed up in Eric’s program. I open his Google drive and search there, too. It takes a few tries but then bingo.

A spreadsheet with names of companies and tax ID numbers, next to column after column of billed amounts. And he had the nerve to lecture me about being a team player. Jesus Christ.

“Oh my God!”

I turn toward the sound of Daryl’s voice. She’s looking out the window with wide, horrified eyes. A set of headlights are working their way up from the bottom of the winding drive.

“Sh-shit!” I say, jamming my thumb drive into the USB port with shaking hands. “Hurry! Did you get anything?”

“I have some invoices,” Amelia answers, taking pictures of the invoices under her shirt to mute the flash. “This is a hot mess.”

Amelia and Daryl rush around the room, straightening photos and smoothing the rug, righting papers, and rubbing their sleeves to clear fingerprints from anything they might have touched.

I glance out the window again and then quickly back to the screen. How many times have I had to watch this in a goddamn movie and thought, Files transfer really fast, this is so unrealistic?

My file transfer is only seventy-three percent complete. But my panic is total.

Headlights move across the room and Brad’s yellow car pulls up alongside Eric’s truck. Come on come on come on.

“Are you done? Evie.” Daryl comes up and pulls on my arm, in the middle of a full-body freak-out behind me.

“Yeah, just . . . one sec.”

“Evie, we have to go!” Amelia says, looking out the window and to the driveway below.

“It’s at ninety-five . . . hurry upsss!” I hiss.

A car door closes outside. Voices carry from downstairs.

“Evie, come on!” Daryl says.

“It’s almost there—dammit! How does a rich person have such a slow computer? What’s he doing with all that money?”

“Eric!” We all freeze at the sound of Brad’s voice in the entryway below.

I look up to Daryl and Amelia, their faces illuminated in the light from the monitor, and for a horrifying second I realize that if I can see them, there’s a chance that Brad could have seen them from outside, too.

My attention snaps to a little ding that says the files have transferred, and I close the drive, clicking out of all the windows as fast as I can.

Daryl moves to the door, opening it just enough to hear what’s happening downstairs. “I think he’s in the kitchen,” she whispers, and we wait, just to be sure. When there’s nothing else, I hold open the door and tiptoe into the hall.

There’s a landing that looks down into the entryway, and when I peek over the rails, I see nothing but gleaming marble floors. No sign of Brad. The door is just at the bottom of the stairs and if we can get there, we’re home free. I don’t care if I have to walk back to my apartment.

Can we do this? I mouth, and while Amelia nods, Daryl is frantically shaking her head.

I’ve just taken my first step off the top landing when Eric’s voice echoes through the house. “Wait, Uncle Brad, I wanted to show you my scar!” he essentially yells.

I almost fall in an attempt to scramble back, arms and legs everywhere as we dart in different directions, each of us disappearing into a different room.

“Eric, what the hell is wrong with you?” Brad asks. “Are you taking drugs?”

“I’m . . . no . . . not drugs,” Eric babbles, his eyes widening when, behind Brad and on the landing, he sees my head peeking out from one of the doorways. He pulls Brad to him in a tight embrace, and motions for me to run. “I’ve just missed you!”

I slip across the hall to the guest room over the garage, slamming into the window when Daryl and Amelia sprint in behind and slide across the wood floor, right into me. I let out a grunted Oof.

Voices fall quiet downstairs.

“Who’s up there?” Brad asks.

“No one,” Maxine says. “It’s just us tonight.”

My heart is a hammer, my chest feels like glass.

“I know I heard something,” Brad says. “I’ll run up—”

“But we were just going to have something to eat!” Eric says. “You have to be hungry. Have you lost weight?”

“Brad, we never get a chance to visit. Come have dinner with us.”

There’s a moment of silence before footsteps retreat along the marble hallway and I squeeze my eyes closed in prayer as I slide open the window.

“What are you doing?” Daryl hisses.

“We’re going to have to climb out and shimmy down the trellis.”

“I’m so confused by the term shimmy down the trellis. How is that even po—”

Amelia ignores her. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” she whispers in my direction.

I look out the window. It’s far, but I mean . . . it’s not like death far. And we need to get the hell out of here, now.

“Come on,” I say, throwing one leg over the windowsill. “Just do what I do.”

Crawling out, I step on the roof of the garage—gingerly at first, making sure my footing is secure—and then shuffle over to the vine-lined trellis. My greatest fear is allayed when I tug at the flimsy structure and it holds securely to the wall.

“Come on,” I urge again, returning to my downward climb when I see Daryl’s leg come over the side of the window, her body emerging onto the roof. Amelia follows right after.

Back in the bed of the truck, we lie flat, staring at the sky and silent but for our jagged, heaving breaths. I’m calmed by the warmth of Amelia on my left and Daryl on my right. Their hands come down, twining with mine.

“Thanks, you guys,” I whisper.

They squeeze my hands in unison as we struggle to catch our breath. Eventually, waiting for Eric to finish up his impromptu meal with his aunt and uncle, we manage to contain our maniacal laughter.