Sydney voice has started to shake. The horror of her story is playing across my imagination, and I can’t even fathom the terror she must have felt.
“I waited under the desk, and for a few moments, it was very quiet. I heard the person pause outside the study before walking in, their footsteps quiet on the thick carpet. I held my breath until I had to let it out, as quietly as I could. The person was on the other side of the desk, I could feel them standing there. And then there was a sharp knock on the desktop, almost like a signal to me—I wasn’t sure. But they knew I was there. They knew.”
“You didn’t see who it was?” Annalise asks.
“I didn’t dare move,” Sydney says. “Then, they just walked out. I heard them go downstairs, followed by another thump—a window opening, I think—and they were gone. I waited a bit longer, until I felt it was safe, and then I made my way out into the hall. I leaned over the railing and saw Fusillo dead at the bottom of the stairs, his robe lying open, exposing him, while hiseyes stared up at the skylight. Suddenly, I heard police sirens. It’d been less than ten minutes, so whoever did this must have called for help or to report it. I wasn’t sure how to get out with all the guards, so I ran back into the study and locked the door.”
“How did you get out of his house?” I ask. “Did the police find you?”
“No, they were standing outside on the lawn arguing. I waited and emailed you girls. Then a guy in a suit with a badge jogged up the driveway, and there was a flurry of movement. The police and guards rushed inside the house, leaving the outside deserted. I took my chance, pushing open the study window and leaping for the bushes. Big drop from the second floor,” she adds. “I wrecked my wrist—sprained it, maybe. Scratches all over my arms. But luckily, I was able to slip out the open gate before the media arrived.”
“Fucking hell,” Jackson mutters, shaking his head. “That is nuts.”
“Yes, it was, Jackson,” Sydney says calmly. “It was definitely fucking nuts.”
We sit quietly for a moment, shocked, to say the least. Then Annalise blows out a cleansing breath.
“Any guesses who it was?” she asks.
“Not even one,” Sydney replies.
“That’s too bad,” Annalise says. “Because maybe it would explain who killed the investor here in Colorado.”
“Wait, what?” Sydney asks. “There’s another dead investor?”
Jackson shifts uncomfortably, and noticing this, Quentin tapshim on the leg. “Let’s run and get some coffees,” he suggests. “I feel like this is going to be a long day.”
Right after they walk out, Annalise pulls herself up to the pillows on the bed and stretches out her legs. She glances at me.
“Mena,” she says, “maybe you should start.”
It’s a long conversation. I start by telling Sydney about finding out that Jackson’s father was an investor, assuring her that he didn’t know and was horrified. I mentioned that we also suspect that Demmy was the one who’d killed Jackson’s mother, and maybe even his first wife. I tell Sydney about the town, up and gone, and how we found Demmy’s dead body. When I’m done, Annalise takes the phone onto her lap.
“Valentine is alive,” Annalise announces without context. Sydney gasps and asks what she means. “Her programming had been extracted and resold,” Annalise clarifies. “She was placed in a new body. That’s how I tracked down Jackson’s father in the first place. He’s the one who bought her.”
“You found Valentine?” she asks.
“Well, no. Not yet,” Annalise concedes. “But she’d been to that house; she was delivered there.”
“Do you think whoever killed the investor took her, then?” Sydney asks. Annalise tilts her head, considering it.
“Honestly,” she says, “I think she walked out of there on her own. I really do.”
Sydney absorbs this information, waiting as we fill her in with any other details we can think of. When we’re done, she hums out a sound.
“Obviously our top priority is finding Valentine,” she says. Annalise agrees, but I hesitate.
“I agree that we need to find Valentine,” I say. “But what about the corporation? How much time do we have left?” Annalise turns to me, hurt in her expression.
“Three of the four investors are dead,” she says. “Seems someone else is already doing the job for us.”
“But why?” I ask. “And who?”
“You said the town is gone?” Sydney asks. “Sounds to me like the corporation is erasing any evidence against them.”
“To what end?” I ask. “What would they do? Where would they go? Powerful men don’t just bankrupt themselves.”
“They’re changing tactics,” Annalise says with nod. “They’ve found something more lucrative. My guess is that won’t end well for us either.”
