He studies her for a moment. “Lillith created two trusts about six months ago. The majority of her assets were liquidated and split between these two private trusts. The beneficiaries are known only to the Auldbridge lawyers. One trust is yours. The other, Patrick’s. Patrick will retain control of the media arm. The small remainder of her assets have been donated to several charities or organizations. There’s nothing else left, Poppy. It’s already all in those trusts. Her castle estate was sold before the cruise, and the proceeds are among the liquidated assets. It was done discreetly. She and Angus have always trusted the Auldbridge Group with their discretion. Nothing need appear in the press. No one needs to know about you. Lillith remains true to her word. She gave you the story of your past, and now it belongs to you, to do with as you see fit. Same goes for your half of her assets.”
Poppy, already dazed, maybe even a bit concussed, and half blind without her glasses, can only stare open-mouthed at this fisherman who used to be Avi Galev.
“But Lillith—she’s not ...gone, is she? She could have made it off the ship.”
He inhales, watching the crowds milling about.
“She’s not coming back.”
“Why? What happened? Did she get off the ship—with Hendrick? Did they flee somewhere?”
“She did what she came to do.”
“Her list—her Death List?”
“Yes.”
Give Poppy her due.
End it with Poppy.
RIP.
“What did she mean by ‘RIP,’ exactly? There was something in that pouch, wasn’t there?”
Softly, he says, “All threats to you—current or future—have been neutralized. I did what she asked. Here, this is for you.”
He hands her a USB stick no bigger than a car key fob.
“What’s this?”
“Cam footage. From some of the elite suites, including yours. One of the crew was spying. I had the data retrieved. It’s yours to control now. She wanted nothing hidden from you.”
Poppy stares at the USB drive. Her brain isn’t working. “Who was spying?”
“Like I said, the threats have been neutralized.”
He pauses, then gets to his feet, looks down at her.
“Goodbye, Poppy.”
“Is your name even Avi?”
But the bearded Greek fisherman turns away. His shoulders slouch inward. He seems to shrink and grow old, weak, tired, as he shuffles off with a heavy-looking sling bag slung across his body.
With a start Poppy realizes it’s the same bag she saw Roshaan give Avi in the foyer at intermission, when she’d run to the loo to be sick.
She watches him limp up a cobbled alley until he rounds a corner and disappears.
Avi Galev is gone.
She knows she’ll never see him again. He dematerialized, reformed into a new identity, and now he’ll probably morph into yet another persona to reappear in some other part of the world. Perhaps—if Lillith paid him handsomely—he might never have to work again.
If what he said is true, neither will she.
But she still can’t absorb it.
She closes her eyes. Feels the warmth of the sun on her face. The heat of the mug in her hands. In her mind she sees Lillith’s face—the kindness in her eye, the gentleness in her voice. Poppy thinks of all the hatred and anger she directed for her entire life at the imaginary mother who dumped her in a Tardis booth.
