“Me,” he says and smirks. “What better way to the get the world all riled up, huh? Prominent men targeted by agitators? Villains. I knew the press would eat that up.”
“You… You killed all three investors?” Marcella asks. “That’s not possible.”
“I had help,” he says. “My mother ran an updated program through those girls that Lennon Rose brought to her. I suspect the poor dear has no idea what happened to them. But… like good little soldiers, they did what they were supposed to. Sweet Letitia even pretended to be Valentine to get to Valdemar Casey. It was inspired. My mother and I were thrilled with the results, except for one small detail—they were supposed to kill you, too.”
Brynn falls apart, and Marcella holds her tightly while glaring at Winston. From where I stand, the world feels slanted, tilted off course.
They sent our own girls to kill us.
I look at Leandra, feeling betrayed, but by the way her mouth is trembling, her hand clutching her stomach, I’m guessing she didn’t know either. Lennon Rose brought the girls to Rosemarie to keep them safe, but the poet had different ideas.
Winston notices our reactions, revels in it a bit, and then pushes on with his story. “When the girls failed at finishing their task, my mother and I decided it was best to eliminate them. I mean, if they couldn’t be trusted to follow simple programming, that could spell danger for us down the line.”
“You are an absolute monster,” I say, my voice shaking. “You’re a murderer.”
“Prove it,” he says and chuckles.
“And the town?” Sydney asks. “What happened to all those people?”
“That I can’t take credit for. The corporation was erasing their footprint at that point,” he says. “Good timing, too, considering how this entire Anton saga played out. There won’t be much evidence for that trial. And understand, girls—we’re not talking about a couple of millionaires here. Some of these men own countries. Clearing out a town was a day’s work for them. The ones who left got money. The ones who refused died. Either way, the corporation got rid of everything that could be tied to them. Which makes your catch of Anton so annoyingly problematic.”
“We’re going to make you pay, Winston,” Marcella says, her voice deep and determined. “Pay for everything you’ve done to us.”
He stares at her, and then laughs to himself and sips from his wine again. There is a rattle as Leandra sways and bumps into the buffet, knocking around a few wineglasses set there. Winston makes a pouting face at her, but then turns away and sips his drink again.
“So how did my mother take seeing you?” he asks us, sounding amused. “She didn’t think you’d come, you know. But I promised her that Leandra could always find a way to convince you.”
“I wouldn’t say Rosemarie took it well, Winston,” I say. “She’s dead. She died in her garden, surrounded by her girls.”
The glass Winston’s been holding slips from his hand. He doesn’t move to catch it, and instead he lets it smash on the floor in front him, bathing his black shoes in red wine. I have never seen Winston Weeks shocked. I almost feel sorry for him.
“Who killed my mother?” he asks. He blinks quickly, and then repeats the question louder.
We could tell him, of course. But why would we? Why put a target on Lennon Rose?
“One of the flowers from her garden killed her,” I say. And considering, it’s a pretty accurate explanation.
Winston stumbles for a moment, but then I watch as he straightens his posture, moving away from the spilled wine to the head of the table. A power position in the room.
“Despite what you’ve done,” he says, his voice a bit shaky, “westill have a future together. But… you girls are out of control. You have been unruly. It doesn’t suit the plan to—”
“Theplan?” I repeat. “And what plan is that, Winston? I think you forgot to fill us in while you were plotting to kill us.”
“My campaign,” he says, his earlier show of bereavement falling away. “I’ve told you this, Philomena. You need an ally at the highest position, the highest authority. How else will you be protected?”
“By not electing a dictator?” Marcella suggests.
“Funny,” Winston replies without smiling. “I’m your best hope. If it does come out that you are artificial girls, I can protect you. I’m the only one who can protect you.”
“Well, that’s just simply not true,” Sydney says. “Our best hope is that someone decent takes over, someone who cares about society—not about greed and power. And in the end, all we want is to live. Just let us live our lives. Stop trying to own everything!”
“You silly girl,” he says. “I don’t have to try. We already own everything.”
“If I’m clear on how these human conventions work,” Marcella says, “dead men aren’t typically on the ballot.”
“You’re right,” Winston says. “But now that all the key figures of Innovations Corporation are in the ground, in prison, or in hiding, it’s time for me tocome back to life.” He flourishes his hands. “The police will find me tied up in my lab after the medical examiner realizes in a few hours that he made a mistake—thanks to a hefty sum in his new offshore account. The leadingstory will no longer be about the dead or evil men in society. It’ll be about the resurrected one. I’ll be a miracle. And you can’t imagine how well that’ll go over with voters.”
“We’re never going to help you,” Sydney says. “We don’t owe you anything.”
