Chapter 13 - Reagan’s Story Cracked the Moment I Mentioned the Bluebird Box

We did not go to the exchange first.

We went to Reagan.

Mara hated the idea.

Nora hated it more.

I went anyway.

At ten that morning, Reagan was leaving a Pilates studio in Silver Lake when I stepped onto the sidewalk in front of her.

She stopped so abruptly that the woman behind her nearly collided with her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Saving Carter.”

Her face lost color.

“What happened?”

“Gideon has him.”

The reaction was immediate and real.

“No.”

“You know he does.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I said two words.

“Bluebird box.”

Reagan grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the parking lot.

“Lower your voice.”

I laughed.

There it was.

Not confusion.

Fear.

“You’ve been lying since I knocked on your door.”

“Finnley—”

“No. You told me Dad had cancer. You told me he was buried. You let me think he died believing I stole from him.”

Her eyes flicked toward nearby pedestrians.

“Not here.”

“Here is perfect.”

She slapped me.

The sound turned two heads.

I barely felt it.

Reagan stared at her own hand.

Then she whispered, “You have no idea what that box can do.”

“What’s inside?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Try another.”

Her shoulders dropped.

For the first time in my life, Reagan looked her age.

Not elegant.

Not polished.

Tired.

“Camden kept recordings.”

My pulse changed.

“Of what?”

“Meetings. Calls. Notes to himself. He said he needed a record because he no longer trusted his memory.”

“Did he record the night he confronted you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gideon thinks he did.”

She closed her eyes.

“Then Carter is in danger.”

“He has been in danger for three years. So was I. You just preferred which son paid.”

Pain crossed her face.

Good.

“Did you know about the duplicate token?”

“Yes.”

“Before my trial?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know Gideon used it?”

“I knew Carter signed for it. Gideon told me he was moving money temporarily to cover Carter’s debts.”

“And when I was arrested?”

“He said your charges would be reduced. He said the company would repay everything, the prosecutor would accept probation, and then we could repair it privately.”

I stared at her.

“And you believed that?”

“I needed to.”

“No. You chose to.”

She looked away.

“Camden would have destroyed Carter.”

“Carter committed a crime.”

“So did Gideon.”

“And you protected both of them.”

“I protected my son.”

“What was I?”

Her mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

That silence answered more than anything else.

A black SUV turned into the lot.

Reagan stiffened.

Mara stepped from her Honda across the street, phone already up.

The SUV continued past.

Reagan breathed again.

“Camden found out the truth two years after your conviction,” she said quickly. “Not all of it. Enough.”

“He confronted you.”

“Yes.”

“Carter pushed him.”

Her eyes filled.

“He didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“He left him without an ambulance.”

“Gideon said—”

“I know what Gideon said.”

“No, you don’t.”

Her voice sharpened.

“He said Camden had already copied everything to federal investigators. He said if police came, Carter would be arrested for fraud and attempted murder before Camden even woke up. He said I would be charged as part of the conspiracy. He said the company would collapse and every employee would lose their job.”

“So you moved Dad to Bakersfield.”

“Yes.”

“And filed a fake death certificate.”

“Gideon did.”

“You signed cremation paperwork.”

Reagan went still.

Carter had never told me that.

But the probate file had contained a surviving spouse declaration.

I watched the lie decide whether to live.

Finally she nodded.

“Yes.”

“Before Dad actually died.”

“Yes.”

The parking lot seemed too bright.

“Did you see his body?”

“No.”

That answer surprised me.

“Carter didn’t either.”

“I know.”

“So neither of you knows he died.”

“Gideon told us.”

“Gideon lies.”

“I know that now.”

“Then where is Camden Dennis?”

Reagan’s eyes moved toward me.

For one impossible second, hope broke through all the ugliness.

Then she crushed it herself.

“Finnley, your father is dead.”

“How can you know?”

“Because three weeks after Bakersfield, a package came to the house.”

“What package?”

“His wedding ring.”

My throat tightened.

“From who?”

“No return address.”

“Anything else?”

“A note.”

“What did it say?”

Reagan began to cry without wiping her face.

Four words.

“Stop looking for Camden.”

I stared at her.

“Where’s the note?”

She swallowed.

“Gideon took it.”

Of course he did.

Then Mara’s phone rang across the street.

She answered, listened, and looked directly at me.

“Finnley,” she called.

Something in her voice made Reagan grab my wrist.

Mara crossed toward us.

“Nora traced the number Pike used.”

“Where?”

“An industrial property in Vernon.”

“Carter?”

“Maybe.”

She held up her screen.

“The property is owned by North Coast Strategies.”

Reagan whispered, “Don’t go.”

I looked at her.

“You already taught me what happens when this family waits for Gideon to decide who gets sacrificed.”

At 5:12 p.m., the exchange location arrived.

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Vernon.

Same address.