“Marcus didn’t know,” Celeste added quietly. “I watched his face when you walked in today, Kesha. A man lying to protect himself doesn’t look like that. He was a coward eight years ago, yes. He chose not to look. He chose to run. But he didn’t know his brother erased his children for a check.”
“Where is Daniel now?” I asked, my tone flat, dangerous, and utterly devoid of fear.
“He’s flying into Boulder tomorrow morning for the late family Christmas dinner,” Celeste said. “He thinks he’s coming to celebrate.”
“Thank you, Celeste,” I said.
“What are you going to do?”
I looked toward the hallway, where my four children lay sleeping peacefully in their beds. Safe. Beautiful. Untouched by the rot of the Reynolds legacy.
“I’m going to finish this,” I replied.
Boxing Day in Boulder was blindingly white.
I didn’t bring the children this time. Leaving them in Austin with Dana was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but this wasn’t a room for innocence. This was an execution.
