"Your father has identified the source. The person who gave Jamie Dean the documents."
Everything stops. The air in the car feels suddenly thick.
"He told me he got it wrong. That his lead didn't pan out."
"He lied. He's known for months. He just didn't want you to know because—" She stops, and when she speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper. "Because it's Kate."
The word doesn't make sense. I hear it, but it doesn't compute.
"What?"
"Kate was the source. Kate gave Dean everything. The financial records, the offshore accounts, the correspondence. All of it."
"That's not possible."
"I wish it weren't." My mother finally turns to look at me, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "Your father confrontedher while you were away. That trip you took in January, the off-grid retreat? There was a confrontation. Kate admitted everything."
January. The cabin. I was with Jamie while my father was confronting Kate about being Jamie's source.
The irony is so bitter I almost laugh.
"Why?" The word comes out hoarse. "Why would she do that?"
"She says—" My mother's voice wavers. "She says she did it because it was the right thing to do. Because she couldn't watch your father keep getting away with things."
"What things?"
"She wouldn't tell me. She just kept saying that Jamie Dean didn't know the half of it."
My mind is racing. Kate. My sister. The source that Jamie protected, that he refused to name even when Warren's smear campaign was destroying his reputation.Kate.
"Does Warren know?"
"No. And he can't. Your father made me promise. He said if Warren found out—" She stops, shaking her head. "We keep this in the family."
I reach over and take her hand. It's cold despite the car's heater.
"Why are you telling me?"
She squeezes my fingers. "Because you deserve to know. You believe him. I can see it. Every time you say the same thing about having full faith in the investigation to clear everything, you believe it. It’s not fair that you’re kept in the dark, but your father said you’d be better if you didn’t know. Plausible deniability, and all that."
I think about Kate at the tennis court, months ago, asking if I was okay. Kate, who apparently knows things about our family that made her willing to burn it all down.
"I need to talk to her."
"Please don’t." My mother's grip tightens. "Give it time. Let things settle. If your father finds out you know, if he thinks you're siding with Kate—"
"I'm not siding with anyone. I just want to understand."
"I know. But understanding can wait. Right now, I need you to keep this to yourself. Can you do that?"
I don't want to. I want to drive to Kate's apartment right now and demand answers. I want to know what made her so certain that exposing our family was worth the cost.
But my mother is looking at me with such exhaustion that I can't refuse her.
"I can do that."
"Thank you." She releases my hand and turns back to face forward. "We should go. It's late."
