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Brilliant.

Controlling.

Generous.

Arrogant.

Loyal.

Infuriating.

And more importantly, he’s a man who loved his grandfather enough to turn an old dream into something real.

A man who took millions and made billions, then spent enormous amounts of those billions trying to solve problems that might never touch his own life.

A man who made a terrible decision because he was terrified someone would destroy the memory of a person he loved.

That doesn't excuse what he did to me. The journalist in me knows that. The woman in me knows it too.

Understanding isn't absolution.

Context isn't forgiveness.

But both matter.

Especially when you're telling someone else's story.

I reach for my laptop. Dani grins.

“Oh, shit.”

Annabeth reaches for the blender and pours it into the sink.

“I’ll make coffee,” she says, then checks out the empty bottle of rum in the recycling bin and raises her eyebrows. “Lots of coffee.”

Carolina gets up.

“What else do you need?”

I open the document I've been avoiding for days. My fingers hover over the keyboard.

“Everything.”

Carolina smiles.

“No problem. But first, someone needs to take a shower.”

Annabeth immediately runs for the bathroom and starts the water.

“Not what I meant.”

“Too late. Let’s go, Hawthorne. You reek like spring break and bad decisions.”

I laugh. A real one this time.

Then I look at the screen.

At Mitchell's name.