I wanted to smile at the thought of Simon, but my busted lip hurt too much. I rested my chin on my bent knees and tried to block out the woman screaming obscenities at me from where she was locked across the hall. It hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes for shit to unravel once I’d been escorted to the large bunkroom-type cell. I could still hear the ripple of whispers as my identity was passed from one inmate to the next. And then Bertha, as I’d dubbed her, had stepped up and told me that no skinny, rich, poser bitch was going to look sideways at her. I was still having a what the fuck are you talking about moment when her Mack truck of a fist had connected with my cheekbone. White spots had burst in my vision as she’d tackled me to the floor. The guards had been slow to pull her off me, and my scalp stung where she had ripped out a chunk of my hair. I’d gotten a few elbows in, but there was no question that I’d been the loser in that exchange.

So we’d both been thrown in the bin. While it was considered harsh punishment, I was thankful to be by myself and felt relatively safe within these four gray concrete walls. If I was still in the bunkroom, I would’ve been afraid to close my eyes, regardless of the fatigue dragging me under. But in here, once I blocked out Bertha’s threats, I could let myself drift off to sleep. Only 142 more hours to go…

I stepped out of my mother’s hospital room to answer my buzzing phone.

Ivers. I’d been waiting for him to call me all damn day.

“Please tell me you have good news.”

He cleared his throat, and my stomach dropped when he hesitated before speaking.

“Mr. Duchesne, I would have called sooner, but I wanted to be able to give you a full picture of what we’re dealing with here.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Unfortunately, Ms. Agoston has been charged with conspiracy to commit grand larceny in the first degree, and was remanded into custody following her arraignment this evening.”

My breath heaved out of my lungs like I’d been sucker-punched. I bent at the waist and tried to comprehend what the fuck Ivers was saying.

“What do you mean, remanded into custody? She’s in jail?”

“Yes, Mr. Duchesne. She’s at Rikers.”

“What the fuck?” My hands shook, and my words echoed off the sterile white walls of the hallway. The charge nurse glared and made a cutting motion across her neck. For the second time today, I sank to the floor, weak-kneed. “Can’t you get her out?”

“Mr. Duchesne, I pushed for the judge to set bail—even a ridiculous figure—and he refused. I have a meeting with Special Agent in Charge Childers tomorrow morning to discuss the information Ms. Agoston provided, and I’m hoping we can come to an agreement that will end with the state charges being dropped. We’ll do everything we can to get her out, as quickly as possible.”

Jesus Christ. What a clusterfuck. I closed my eyes and pictured Charlie in a prison jumpsuit. The dinner I’d choked down in the cafeteria threatened to come back up.

Ivers waited patiently for me to respond.

“Look, call me if anything changes. Day or night. Don’t wait next time. I don’t care if you don’t have the full picture or not. I want to know everything, as it happens.”

“Of course.”

I ended the call, dropped my head back against the wall, and squeezed my eyes shut. Charlie was in jail, and my mother was in a coma. In a matter of days, my life had morphed into a waking nightmare.

My father shuffled out of my mother’s room and jerked his head toward the bench across the hall.

“Sit with me?” he asked.

I pulled myself together and joined him on the teal and yellow flowered cushion.

My brain started firing again, and I thought about the connections my father still had. “Do you know anyone who’s close with the governor of New York?”

His eyes widened. “What happened?”

“They arrested her.” The words stuck in my throat, but I forced them out. “She’s … in jail. At Rikers. The judge denied bail.”

My dad sat back and laced his fingers together on his lap.

“Is there any chance you’re going to change your mind about running for my old seat?”

I stared at him, not sure where this was going. “If you tell me that you’ll only get her out if I agree to run, then…”

He unlaced his fingers, twisted toward me, and dropped a hand on my shoulder. “No, I wouldn’t force a choice like that on you. But the fact that you think I could makes it clear you don’t think all that highly of me right now. But that’s something for another day. My point is that if there was any chance you were going to change your mind, she would make an already difficult road impassable.”

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“Okay. So tell me—what are we up against?”

His matter of fact acceptance, even after I’d insulted him, humbled me.

I explained the situation, and once I’d finished, he rubbed a hand across his bristled jaw. “Shit.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Do you want to go to New York?”

My eyes snapped to his. “I can’t leave Mom. Not now. Not until we know…”

He nodded. “I know. Well, I can’t make any calls right now, but I’ve got some ideas of whom I can contact in the morning. We’ll see what we can do to get her out. And barring that, whatever we can do to keep her safe on the inside.”

My six-inch thick steel cell door swung open, and the guard motioned for me to exit. I’d spent three days in segregation, and I was starting to lose my shit. I knew I should be happy that I’d been unmolested, but seventy-two hours by myself gave me too damn much time to think. I mostly thought about all of the places I should have run instead of New York. I’d been so naïve to think I could just show up, wave my magic notebook, and make everything better. Pride goeth and all that.

He led me through the maze of hallways to a guard station. It took me a few minutes but I caught on to the fact that I was being processed for a transfer. Whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, I wasn’t certain. I saw the U.S. Marshals waiting for me on the other side of the door; I decided it was a bad thing.

No one bothered to correct my assumption.

We drove back to Manhattan, and my stomach knotted tighter with each mile. When they finally parked in a garage under the U.S. District Court, my dread grew. It multiplied when I was led in front of a federal magistrate judge, and he launched into his spiel.