Regardless of the reason, once again I’d had altogether too much time to think. And as you might expect, Simon dominated those thoughts. And how could he not? He was the kind of man you waited your whole life to meet, even though you had no idea you were waiting.

I’d had endless hours to replay the shock, disappointment, and betrayal that had flashed across his features as the press had hurled their questions like daggers, shredding my carefully constructed charade. It didn’t matter that I’d finally decided to come clean. All that mattered were all of the times I’d chosen not to.

Simon wasn’t the kind of man who deserved to be dragged through the scandal that would always follow me. It wouldn’t matter that the funds recovered nearly exceeded what had been originally stolen when you added in the interest that had accrued. You could glue a broken plate back together, but you’d always see the crack. You’d never forget that it’d once been damaged.

In my case, recovering the money wouldn’t wash away the fact that I’d always be the infamous daughter of the reviled Alistair Agoston.

The Suburban pulled into an underground parking structure, and we traveled up a freight elevator that opened into a service hallway and the rear entrance of the U.S. Attorney’s Office. My escorts led me to a conference room where Drake and Ivers were both waiting.

I took the chair next to Ivers, and Drake slid two documents across the table. My hands shook as I reached for them

“As we agreed,” Drake said. I’m not sure if his words were for me or for Ivers, but I didn’t care either way. I was too busy staring at the signed and filed orders from a federal judge and a state court judge dismissing all charges against me with prejudice. These documents meant that neither the U.S. government nor the State of New York could come after me again for anything connected with my father’s crimes. They were giving me back my freedom. My future.

Now that I had them in my hands and no one could take them away, I asked the question that I had been afraid to ask before. “What about the rest of the accounts? The ones that weren’t in my name? What about that money?”

“They’re our problem, not yours.” Drake gave me a brisk nod of acknowledgment and stood. “I believe we’re done here. Have a nice life, Ms. Agoston.”

I sagged back in my chair. It was really over.

Ivers rose and shook Drake’s hand. “Could we have the room for another minute or two? I need to have a few words with my client.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Drake shut the door as he left the conference room. Ivers reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced a piece of paper folded into neat thirds. He held it out to me.

“What is it?” I asked.

His lips quirked. It was the first time I’d seen anything approaching a smile on his face.

“Just take it.”

I complied and unfolded it. It was a printout of an e-ticket. A flight from JFK to New Orleans. For tomorrow.

I looked up, eyes wide. “What is this?”

“I would think that’s obvious.”

I blinked down at the e-ticket again. “But … why?”

“I was asked by Mr. Duchesne to make certain you got it. I informed him that the dismissals would be filed this morning. He made the reservation for tomorrow as he thought you might need some time to wrap things up here before heading home.”

My heart thudded in my chest.

Home.

I swallowed, continuing to stare at the piece of paper as if the flight information would somehow rearrange itself into a message from Simon.

He wants me to come home.

My mind raced with the possibilities. His motivations. The consequences.

Just being near him, I would tar him with my notoriety. It wasn’t like I could keep pretending that I was Charlie Stone—that ship had sailed. Or maybe sank was more accurate. But even if my name wasn’t Charlotte Agoston, the tattoos covering my arms ensured that I would never look demure in a dress, standing behind him as he gave a rousing speech to a cheering crowd. I was political cyanide, and there was no doubt in my mind that he’d have to choose between his dream and me.

I fingered the piece of paper in my hand. What the hell was I supposed to do with it? Be selfish or selfless? God knew I wanted to be with him. But how could I really choose to taint his future with the darkness that would always follow me?

“There’s also a reservation in your name at the Waldorf for tonight. Everything has been taken care of; all you have to do is check in.”

I looked back down at the e-ticket and double-checked the departure time.

Twenty-four hours to decide.

I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. No pressure. Just a choice that would dictate the course of the rest of my life. Run to him or run from him?

Ivers stood and offered his hand. I shook it. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head slightly and studied me. It was like he was analyzing the chaotic indecision of my thoughts. “You’re very welcome, Ms. Agoston. Is there anything you’d like me to tell Mr. Duchesne when I speak with him? Will you be using the ticket?”

There was a knock at the door, and I was saved from having to answer when Drake stuck his head in.

“You have a visitor in the lobby, Ms. Agoston. One that has been very persistent over the last several weeks. Both here and at the FBI field office.”

I scrunched my brow, trying to figure out who the hell would be trying to see me. “Who?”

“Your mother.”

My mother? My hands flew to my hair, and I began smoothing it into place before I realized that just the thought of facing her had me falling back into old habits. I forced my hands down to my sides. There was nothing about my appearance my mother would find acceptable, so what was the point? I could hope she’d just be happy to see me. Right. I wouldn’t hold my breath.

Moving slowly to delay the coming confrontation, I folded the e-ticket and dismissal orders and stuck them in my backpack. I hefted the duffle bag that the FBI agents had supplied to hold the extra clothes they’d provided me. More jeans and T-shirts to round out my wardrobe.

“Thank you again for everything,” I said to Ivers.

“It was my pleasure. Best of luck to you, Ms. Agoston.”

I met Drake at the door. “Lead the way.”

The paneled lobby of the U.S. Attorney’s Office was empty except for the receptionist and my mother. She was dressed in a linen pantsuit that she’d somehow managed to keep wrinkle free. No surprise there. Wrinkles were the enemy. Except it was clear that her current budget didn’t allow for regular Botox, because for the first time in my life, my mother had crow’s feet and looked very much her actual age. It reminded me that the last year hadn’t just been rough on me. My feelings toward her softened when I thought about her staying in New York and braving the gossip and ugly aftermath, while I’d chosen to run and hide. Whatever else she was, she was a strong woman.