"You said your father died when you were fourteen. And your mother is still recovering."
"That's all true. But my father didn't die in an accident."
He waits.
"He was a money manager. For famous people. Celebrities like yourself. By every measure, he was successful. Clever. But it turned out he stole from clients. When he found out he was going to be indicted, instead of doing jail time or facing embarrassment—he shot himself."
Cameron sets down his scotch. "Where were you when it happened?"
"In the next room. I found him."
"Jesus Christ, Tara." Cameron moves toward me, but I hold up my hand.
"My mother was out of the country when it happened. They'd been estranged by that point. She was trying to distance herself."
Cameron waits for me to continue.
"Anyway, I called 911. The ambulance and police arrived. Because my mother was out of the country and I didn't have any relatives, the police took me to juvenile hall."
Cameron's face hardens.
"They put you in a cell?"
"I had to spend the night there. I was screaming to be let out, hysterical. My father was the most important person in my life."
Edison quietly pads down the staircase from Posey's room. Sensing my need, he walks over and puts his head in my lap. I stroke his warm, comforting fur.
"A guard came into my cell that night. He closed the door and locked it."
My voice gets smaller. "He tried to—he tore off all my clothes. Like some kind of frenzied animal. He pushed me to the cement floor so hard I felt like my head was broken."
I pause, the memory still raw after all these years.
"Then he started pressing himself against me. But one of my heavy wedge shoes was nearby. The platform kind with the thick metal heel was popular back then. I grabbed it and smashed it into his head. Then I kept kicking him in the balls to knock him out until the authorities rescued me."
"Oh, my God. Tara!" Cameron's voice is barely a whisper.
"When it came time to testify, the guard said I was a maniac who attacked him for no reason. They believed him. Imagine that. A grieving, hysterical fourteen-year-old versus a uniformed officer."
"But you were defending yourself!"
"The judge didn't see it that way. I was sentenced. My mother hired a lawyer, and eventually the charges were reduced to a misdemeanor."
I look up at him. "But it's still on my record. For anyone to see. Even Jason, as you just saw."
Cameron runs his hands through his hair.
"I could never have imagined it would come to this,” Cameron says. “Everything Jason said tonight was exaggerated, but true. I destroyed that photographer's camera. I was seconds away from punching him in the face. That can't be denied."
"And the paternity test?" The words stick in my throat. "You told me you passed with flying colors."
He's quiet for a long moment, staring into his scotch.
"Did you lie about that?"
"I didn't lie," he says quietly. "But the test was inconclusive. They need another sample. More sophisticated equipment at a lab off this island."
"How long will that take?"
