“Maybe. But I’m not the only one he’s hurt. Maybe if I come forward, other people will, too.”

“All right. We’ll stand behind you, of course.” He says it matter-of-factly, as if there’s no other path he could conceive taking. Like my mom would do if she were alive. “We have resources. We’ll hire a PR team and the best lawyers. They’ll dig into Daniel’s background until the Delacortes’ ancestors’ skeletons come popping out.”

He’s about to say something else, but the door to the waiting room opens and a doctor appears. There’s no blood on his scrubs and he doesn’t look sad.

I sigh with relief. I don’t know why. I guess because if he had a lot of blood on him, it’d mean the surgery had been terrible and Reed’s life would’ve been staining the cotton.

“Mr. Royal?” he says as he approaches. “I’m Dr. Singh. Your son is fine. The knife hit no major organs. It was largely superficial. He caught the blade in his hands and he has wounds on his palms, but those should heal within the next ten to fifteen days. He should avoid any vigorous activity.”

Easton snorts beside me, and Callum throws him a glare. My cheeks turn a dark red.

“But if the Riders keep winning,” the doctor adds, “he will be ready for State.”

“You can’t honestly be serious about the football thing!” I burst out.

This time everyone frowns at me. Dr. Singh removes his glasses and rubs them on his shirt. “Of course I’m serious. We wouldn’t want one of our best defensive players out for the championship.”

Dr. Singh looks at me like I’m the crazy person. I throw up my hands and stomp away as Callum and the doctor talk about the Riders’ chances without Reed in the first playoff game.

“Easton, you aren’t going to let your brother play again, right?” I hiss.

“Doc said it was fine. Besides, you think I have any control over what Reed does?”

“You’re all insane. Reed should be at home, in bed!”

He rolls his eyes. “You heard what the doc said. Superficial wound. He’ll be up and around in two weeks.”

“I give up. This is completely ridiculous.”

Callum comes over to us. “Ready to go home?”

“Can’t I wait for Reed?” I object.

“No, he’s in a private room, but there’s no bed for you. Or you,” he says to Easton. “Both of you are coming home with me tonight where I can keep an eye on you. Reed’s sleeping and he doesn’t need to be worried about the two of you.”

“But...”

“No.” Callum’s not budging. “And you, Easton, are not going over to Delacorte’s house to do anything.”

“Fine,” he says sullenly.

“I want to go to the police station and report Daniel,” I announce. I need to do it tonight before I lose my nerve, and having Callum next to me would be the second best thing to having Reed.

“We’ll go there first,” Callum agrees as he ushers us outside to the waiting Town Car. “It’s all going to be fine. Durand.”

Durand gives a terse nod and climbs into the driver’s seat.

Once the car is moving, Callum dials a number on his phone and then lays it on his knee, face up with the speaker on.

A groggy voice answers after the third ring. “Callum Royal? It’s one in the morning!”

“Judge Delacorte. How are you?” he asks politely.

“Is something wrong? It’s quite late.” Daniel’s father’s voice is hushed, as if he’s still in bed.

“I know that. I wanted to give you a courtesy call. I’m on my way to the police station with my ward and son. Your boy, Daniel, is—how do I put this—a fucking criminal asshole and we’re going to see that he does some hard time.”

Shocked silence greets us. Easton muffles a laugh with his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Delacorte finally says.

“That’s possible,” Callum acknowledges. “Sometimes parents don’t keep a close eye on their kids. I’ve been guilty of that myself. The good news is I have a team of excellent private investigators. As you know, given the government work we do, we need to be very careful about who we hire. My team is particularly good at ferreting out any secrets that could impact a person’s ability to be honest. I’m sure that if there are no skeletons in Daniel’s closet…” He pauses for dramatic effect and it works, because the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I’m not the one being threatened. “…or yours, you have nothing to worry about. Have a good night, Your Honor.”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up.” There’s a rustling. “Just a minute.” A door closes and his voice is louder, more alert. “What do you propose?”

Callum remains silent.

Delacorte doesn’t like that. Panicked, he pleads, “You must be agreeable to something or you wouldn’t have called. Tell me what your demands are.”

Still Callum doesn’t answer.

The next time Delacorte speaks, he’s nearly panting. “I’ll have Daniel sent away. He’s been invited to attend the Knightsbridge School for Gentlemen in London. I’ve encouraged him to go but he’s been reluctant to leave his friends.”

Oh great. So he’s going to rape and stab kids in London? I open my mouth, but Callum raises his hand and shakes his head no. I settle back in my seat and reach for patience.

“Try again,” he says simply.

“What is it that you want?”

“I want Daniel to recognize that he’s done wrong and correct that behavior in the future. I don’t necessarily believe that incarceration brings about that change. In about five hours, two naval officers will show up at your door. You will sign the waiver that allows them to take his seventeen-year-old person with them. Daniel will then attend a military academy designed to correct the behavior of troubled youths such as himself. If he passes, he will return to you. If he doesn’t, we’ll feed him into one of the jet combines at the plant.” Callum laughs as he hangs up, but I honestly don’t know if he’s kidding or not.

I know my eyes are big as saucers, and I can’t help but ask, “Um, are you really going to murder Daniel?”