She started with Madison Miller’s necklace, and then she worked her way backward. She had so much to tell them. Years’ worth. She had details about meetings, and she had dates and times, and she had a good mental record of all the different items she’d seen at different times in the hiding place. She told them that she’d never been able to figure out the password to the laptop.

The female agent smiled at her. “Our guys can get around that,” she said. “Why don’t you just tell us where the laptop is, Mrs. Giordano, and we’ll take care of everything else.”

Sherri talked and she talked and she talked, until it came time to pick up Katie from school. The agents asked her if she felt safe returning home. She said she did. They said they would get to work right away securing a search warrant.

That night Sherri didn’t sleep. She imagined Bobby might come back home unexpectedly. She imagined Bobby would kill her the way he’d killed Madison Miller.

The next day she kept Katie home from school. She told her she had a mother/daughter day planned. She told her they’d go to breakfast and for a manicure. The whole time they were at breakfast, Sherri was shaking. She spilled her coffee. The manicurist had to hold her hand steady so she could paint her nails.

When they got home Sherri told Katie to go up to Sherri’s room and put on a movie. She called the agent with the kind eyes and she said seven words. She said, “I was wrong. We aren’t safe here.”

If the agent batted an eye, Sherri didn’t hear it over the phone. She said, “Sit tight, Mrs. Giordano. Someone is coming for you and your daughter. It won’t be long.”

The rest of it happened so fast, and also in complete slow motion. The FBI took Katie and Sherri into protective custody. Under the protection of the search warrant, they took apart Bobby’s office, bit by bit by bit. It was easy for them to find the hiding place because Sherri had told them about it, but no doubt they would have found it anyway. By the time Bobby got home, there were FBI agents there to arrest him. The same thing happened at Joey’s house, and at Sonny’s, and at Carmen’s: all four within the span of a few hours. Gone.

Sherri didn’t let herself think about Bobby’s face when the agents approached. She didn’t let herself think about him looking around their house, their big beautiful home, feeling confused—feeling scared. Instead she thought about Madison’s parents walking by her empty bedroom. She thought about Madison’s dog lying near her bed, waiting for Madison to come home. She thought about the last minutes of Madison’s life, the wire tightening around her neck. She thought about the little brothers.

Once Bobby was remanded into custody, awaiting trial, Sherri and Katie were allowed to go back home. Sherri told Katie Bobby was gone because he’d been accused of some very bad things. Katie said, “Did he do the bad things?” Sherri looked at her for a long time, and then finally she said, “I don’t know, Katie-kins. I don’t know. But I think he might have. We’ll know more, after the trial.”

It was a small grace that Katie’s school was in another town, but it wasn’t on another planet. People talked and talked and talked. Sherri didn’t get out of the car at drop-off or pickup, the way she used to. She didn’t chat with anyone. While Katie was at school, she hardly left the house. If she did, she shopped in other towns. She wore a hat. Glasses. Whatever it took. She stopped sleeping. She stopped eating. She pulled herself together in the mornings and the afternoons for Katie, and in between she fell apart. Every. Single. Day.

Weeks went by. A month, two, while they prepared the case. Six months, then nearly nine. At some point someone from the U.S. Attorney’s office came to see her. Sherri poured him a glass of lemonade and he said, “We need you to tell a jury everything you’ve already told the FBI, Mrs. Giordano. We need you to testify at the trial. Do you think you can do that?”

Sherri’s answer was immediate. “No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”

He persisted. She was the only reliable witness. She was the only one who knew everything. She was the one who’d heard them talking in the office; she was the one who had talked about Madison with Bobby, who had gauged his reactions, who knew the time line. If she didn’t testify, there was a chance all the men could go free.

In Sherri’s dreams that night, Katie was wearing the ripped jeans, the pink Vans, the charm necklace. Katie was leaving the Target, approaching her car. Sherri woke up just as somebody reached for Katie.

The man from the U.S. Attorney’s office returned the next day at the same time. She poured more lemonade. He sipped and looked at her over the rim of his glass.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could help more. But I’ve done all that I can do. If I testify, somebody is going to kill me or my daughter.”

That’s when he leaned forward, and he set the glass down, and he looked at her without blinking. He had gray eyes—an unusual color, the color of storm clouds. He said, “I’d like to talk to you about a program that protects witnesses in certain cases.”

Sherri said, “Yes?”

The man said, “It’s unusual for a noncriminal to seek this protection, but it’s not unheard of, and in the case of you and your daughter we think it might be warranted.” Bobby and the others were being tried specifically for Madison Miller’s death, but the other evidence—the trafficking, the money laundering—could eventually implicate others. Bobby’s operation had tentacles, and nobody knew how far they reached. “Have you ever heard,” said the man with the unusual gray eyes, “of the Witness Protection Program?”