My father’s face was ashen as he turned to look at Ursula. “You wouldn’t.”

“I did what you ordered me to do,” Ursula said. “I flew to New York, dyed my hair black, and packed a couple of suitcases full of your dead wife’s clothes. Then I flew to Guam and hid in a hotel there for three months so you could have an easy divorce that stayed out of the spotlight. A fake divorce, which seemed appropriate for a man who is such a fraud in every aspect of his life.”

I was watching out the window for the NYPD, and two vehicles pulled up at the time we’d agreed. “Look, it’s the police,” I said. “This part will be amusing.”

My father’s head swiveled. “They can’t arrest me. They don’t have a warrant. They don’t have jurisdiction. They don’t have—”

“Shhh,” I said. “It’s not your turn. Yet.”

We watched in silence as they banged on the door of my father’s house and poured inside. They knew Harris was ex-military and had guns, which made him a serious threat. But his takedown was surprisingly peaceful. He exited with his hands cuffed behind his back, his bald head bowed low.

“What are they arresting him for?” my father cried. “He had nothing to do with your mother! He didn’t even work for me then!”

I thought about telling him that the case of Mirelle’s death had never been closed by the Berlin police and that Mehmet Badem had confessed to his part in a sworn statement. I had no doubt that Harris had committed no end of illegal acts on my father’s behalf and that he would never see justice for most of them. But he would be spending his upcoming years in a jail cell, and that was important. I would’ve worried about Ursula’s safety if Harris were free.

My father looked shell-shocked when he turned away from the window. “You can’t do this.”

“Your reckoning has been long overdue,” Juliet said.

“None of you would have anything without me!” My father’s face twisted like a gargoyle’s as he shouted in impotent rage.

“You really need to sign these papers.” Juliet opened a large leather attaché case on the table. “Hugo Laraya was kind enough to draw them up for us. You’ll be signing over the company and the various properties you own.”

“Why would I do that?” my father demanded, eyes bulging. “You can all go to hell.”

I looked out the window. One of the NYPD vehicles had ferried Harris away, but the other was still there.

“You can sign now, before Interpol arrives,” I said. “Or you can wait until all your stolen property has been seized by the government. This isn’t even about the money laundering. Yet.”

“What are you doing? You’re pulling apart everything I ever built.”

Juliet tossed the papers at him. I handed him a pen.

I am full of hidden horrors. My mother’s voice ran through my head. I could forgive her—if anything, I empathized with her torment—but I could never forgive him. The horrors belonged to him. As he finally realized his empire was collapsing, his eyes filled with tears. It was the only time I ever saw my father cry.

CHAPTER 53

DEIRDRE

Two weeks after Theo got out of the hospital, Reagan’s mother decided to host a family dinner. For as long as I’d known Mrs. Chen, her response to any situation, happy or sad, was to cook. “It’s her primary way of expressing affection,” Reagan told me. “She might criticize what you’re wearing, what you’re doing, and every choice you make, but if she makes roast duck, that means she loves you.”

Mrs. Chen went all out, cooking for two days straight and shooing me out of the kitchen when I dropped by to help.

“Start one little kitchen fire and no one trusts you anymore,” I grumbled.

“If it was only one, it would be okay,” she answered. “You’re too good at breaking things.”

Dinner was set for six o’clock on Friday, which was as early as Reagan could get home from work. Teddy and Gloria got there early. “It smells SO GOOD,” he said when he skipped into the house, endearing himself forever to Mrs. Chen. She let him into the kitchen, putting him to work as her official taster.

“He’s been excited about this for days,” Gloria told Mrs. Chen.

At five thirty, the bell rang. My father was on the doorstep, clutching a bouquet of orange lilies and a big bag from Joe’s Sicilian Bakery in Bayside. I’d invited him on impulse. His words about regrets had been circling in my head. I wasn’t ready to forgive him. I wasn’t sure I ever could. But I was open to finding out how much he’d really changed. More than that, I took Caro’s last words seriously—she wanted both of us to be deeply involved in raising Teddy, and that meant I couldn’t shut him out of my life.

He seemed suitably uncomfortable.

“You look like you’re trying to impress,” I told him at the door.

“Caro gave me this blazer,” he answered. “Does it look ridiculous?”

“I meant the bag from the bakery. The jacket’s fine. Theo probably has the same one. Maybe he’ll wear it tonight.”

It was strange being in the same room as my father. For years, he’d loomed large in my imagination. In person, he had a shy curiosity and awkwardness, like a penguin who’d been let out of the zoo on a day pass. Jude came in, and he relaxed a little. Then he pulled me aside and handed me a paper bag, first pulling out a small, shiny box. “This is yours,” he said.

Inside was my mother’s gold locket, all delicate Celtic scrollwork dangling from a gleaming chain. I cracked it open. Inside was a photograph of my family, taken when I was eight.

I had a lump in my throat the size of the Empire State Building.

“There are some other things in there,” he added. “But I know you loved that locket. I’ve been meaning to give it to you. Caro refused to do it—she said I had to give it to you myself. I asked Jude to do it at the funeral. I’m sorry I held on to it for so long.”

I nodded. “I appreciate it.”

He patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t get all snuffly.”

“I was admiring the brown paper bag. So classy.”

“You always had such a mouth on you,” he said. It wasn’t entirely without admiration.

“Pot, meet kettle,” I told him.

“I found something else too,” he said. “It came up while the cops were investigating. I talked to someone at that Egyptian company.”

“Osiris’s Vault? They’re not Egyptian; they’re in the Bronx.”

“Whatever.” He handed me an envelope. “For you to read whenever you’re ready.”

I went out for a walk, curious but apprehensive. When I’d braced myself, I opened it up. The first page said: Deirdre,

I’m terrible at emotional conversations (like everyone in our family) so I wanted to put some thoughts down in case I never get to say them in person. I keep thinking of Mom, and of how things were when we were growing up. I’ve always regretted that we lost touch for a few years, and I wish The letter stopped there. I turned the page, but it was blank. For a minute, I was confused, until I remembered the day I’d stormed into Osiris’s Vault. The one employee who’d helped me had mentioned that there were earlier versions of Caro’s message to me. That was what I was holding: her earlier drafts. My hands shook as I scanned the next one.

Deirdre,

I keep thinking of Mom, and how you never believe you’re going to end up like one of your parents, until you do. For so long I’ve wanted to talk to you honestly about our lives growing up, but I can’t seem to do it in person. I used to be angry at you for doing what you did. But the truth is I’m angry at myself for doing nothing. I don’t think I ever told you how much I admire you.

Like the first one, it stopped suddenly. The last one was very short.

Dodo,

You are a kind of a monster who kicks everyone’s ass, but I love you anyway.

I read each one over again and again. It was a strange gift, seeing my sister’s words—and hearing her voice in my head—after she was gone. Caro had never finished exactly what she’d wanted to say, but I knew her well enough to get the gist of it. I circled the block, dried my eyes, and went back to the house to be with our family.