“Our plan is strong,” Luna says, “but extra help wouldn’t hurt.”
“Let’s hear it,” Enzo says as he sits back at the table.
And just like that, we tell them.
We tell them Jules and I will be in attendance for work with Luna on comms. That I plan to ask for an introduction to Troy from my boss. That my handshake will be the method for poisoning him. And how twenty minutes later, he’ll have a seizure right in front of all his friends and donors, as the event livestreams. No matter the medical attention he might receive, he’ll be dead within a few hours.
They listen intently. Hudson volunteers to be on duty with the FBI for the event, sharing that they’ve been asking for agents to work it. Luna suggests she might volunteer as well, then. We all agree Enzo and Eva can’t be seen in public at the event, but both could help on comms.
We tell them what Luna found on her other case regarding the Hollywood parties and that it looks like Sophie and the Russians are working with DeShawn Crown. His parties are the newest cover for trafficking, just like Jared’s. We even tell themthat there is history with Jules and Jax Novak, who is now leading the federal investigation to find Sophie.
We lay it all out, answering every question they have.
They never question whether we are telling the truth.
They don’t run in the other direction.
They don’t wash their hands of us.
They care.
To want to help.
And it feels… I don’t even know. I don’t know how it feels.
But I do know that for the first time in our lives, it isn’t just the three of us against the world.
TWENTY-THREE
trust
Enzo
Sunday Evening, Day 32
We sat at the dining table for hours, talking and plotting. Everyone went into operation mode. It seemed easier than dealing with the reality of what was shared.
Jared Whiteman had kids.
Not just kids—daughters.
The most notorious child predator and sex trafficker in US history, known for abusing young girls, providing children to his rich and powerful friends, had daughters.
Three daughters no one knew existed. I can’t wrap my head around it, let alone everything these three women have been through—what every victim who went to Maribel Island endured.
When we wrapped our conversation, I asked Pippa if she’d stay to talk with Hudson and me. We said our goodnight to Julesand Luna while Eva retreated to her room.
The hug exchanged between my sister and Luna lingered in a way that reminded me I need to ask her what is going on with the two of them. In the chaos of the past couple of weeks, we haven’t discussed her long-harbored crush or what it’s been like working alongside Luna. Let alone my hunch that maybe something has developed between the two of them.
Now Hudson, Pippa, and I stand in the den. I’ve noticed none of us have been drinking tonight, but I offer to pour them a glass of bourbon. Both decline.
Can I have this conversation without liquid courage? I guess I’m about to find out.
We’ve taken seats in three different chairs, all facing each other. Pippa is dressed in sweats with no makeup, her hair in a ponytail. When I saw her descend the stairs for dinner, it caught me off guard. I’ve never seen her so exposed, so vulnerable.
Before tonight, I’m not sure I ever saw the real her.
“Pippa, how are you? Really?” I ask.
