Anger flamed in Ellen's chest, and she hurried from the room.

On fire.

Chapter Ninety.

Ellen stood on the snowy brick doorstep and knocked on the front door of the gorgeous Dutch Colonial. The ride to Radnor hadn't dissipated her anger, even with newsvans trailing her, and she knocked again on the door, drenched in the calcium white light of the klieg lights. Reporters recorded her every movement, but she didn't care. They were doing their job, and she was doing hers.

"h.e.l.lo?" Sarah opened the front door, and her dark eyes flared in alarm. She shielded her eyes from the klieg lights with a raised hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Let me in. We're on TV, girlfriend."

"You have no right to come here!" Sarah tried to shut the front door, but Ellen straight-armed it open.

"Thanks, don't mind if I do." She powered over the threshold into a warm, well-appointed living room, furnished with gray suede sectionals and a thick pile matching rug, where two young boys were sitting on the floor, playing a noisy video game on a widescreen TV.

"Wait! My kids are here."

"I can see that." Ellen masked her emotions to wave to them. "Hey, guys, how you doing?"

"Fine," one answered without looking up, but Sarah shut the door and motioned to them.

"Boys, go to your room," she said, staccato, and they set down the game controllers and rose instantly, astounding Ellen. She couldn't get that kind of obedience from her hair, much less her son. They left the room, and Sarah picked up the controller, hit the red b.u.t.ton for off, and set it down on top of the TV, which had gone black.

"Sarah, how could you do it?" Ellen kept her temper in check. "Not just to me, but to Will? How could you do that to Will?"

"I didn't do anything to him, nothing wrong anyway." Sarah edged backwards, tugging at the corner of her skinny black sweater.

"You cannot believe that."

"I do, and it's true. Your son is where he belongs, with his real parents." Sarah didn't look regretful in the least, her mouth still tight. "I did the right thing."

"You didn't do it because it was the right thing. You did it for the money." Ellen took a step closer, fighting the impulse to hit Sarah in the face. "You couldn't wait to quit your job, now that you're rich."

"It doesn't matter why I did it, what matters is that he wasn't legally yours. He was Timothy Braverman."

"I might have told them, but you took it out of my hands."

"No, you wouldn't have. No mother would."

"Maybe you wouldn't, but I might have, and because of you, Will was taken in the worst possible way." Ellen's anger bubbled to the surface. "No explanation, no phasing in, just taken taken. It's the kind of thing that can mess him up for life."

"All I did was tell the truth."

"Don't pretend you have the moral high ground, because you don't. Was it moral to spy on me? To search my computer? You even tricked my son into telling you where I was!"

"He wasn't your son. He was their son."

"He was my my son." son."

"Not legally."

"He was my son until I said different." Ellen felt angry tears, and at some level, even she knew she was yelling at the wrong person. She wasn't angry at Sarah, she was angry at everyone and everything. Angry that it had happened in the first place. Still she couldn't stop herself. "I would never do anything to hurt your children, no matter what."

"You're not worried about Will. You're worried about yourself."

"You know what, you're right. I love my son and I want him home and I'm never going to have him again. But most of all, I want him to be happy. If he's happy, I'm happy, and thanks to you, he's in pain and-"

There was a noise behind them, from the other end of the living room, and Ellen turned around, shocked at the sight. It was Myron Krims, Sarah's husband, but he was in a wheelchair. She had met him only once, years ago, and he had been walking fine. Then he was one of the top thoracic surgeons in the city, but he was clearly ill. His black sweater and khakis were swimming on him, and his hair had gone completely gray. Circles ringed his eyes, and his aspect looked vague.

"Dear?" Myron asked, his voice shaky. "I've been calling you."

"Excuse me." Sarah hurried to her husband, and Ellen watched as she bent over him, whispered something in his ear, then wheeled him out of the room. Sarah returned after a moment, her face a tight mask. "So. Now you see."

For a minute, Ellen didn't know what to say. "I had no idea."

"We don't advertise."

"What happened?"

"He has MS." Sarah straightened a suede pillow that didn't require it.

"For how long?"

"For the rest of his life."

Ellen reddened. "I mean, how long has this been going on?"

"None of that is your business. It's n.o.body's business but ours."

Ellen saw a premature fissure in Sarah's forehead and wondered why she'd never noticed it before. All this time she'd thought she was the only one on a single income, but she'd been wrong.

"I was doing what was right for my family." Sarah's voice remained controlled, and her gaze unwavering. "I was doing what I had to do."

"You could have told me." Ellen felt disarmed, grasping. "You could have warned me."

"What would you have said? Don't take the money?" Sarah snorted. "It was my family or your family. I chose my family. You would have done the same."

"I don't know," Ellen answered, after a minute. She was thinking back to what the cop had said at the ER waiting room. It's no-win. It's no-win. Suddenly she didn't know anymore what was right or moral, what was legal or fair. She no longer took satisfaction in confronting Sarah. She wasn't composed enough to a.n.a.lyze the situation. She couldn't even tell what she would have done in Sarah's position. She knew only that Will was gone, and there was a deep rent in her chest where her heart had been. Her shoulders sagged, and she felt herself sinking onto the couch. Her face dropped into her hands, and in the next second, the cushion dipped down as Sarah sat beside her. Suddenly she didn't know anymore what was right or moral, what was legal or fair. She no longer took satisfaction in confronting Sarah. She wasn't composed enough to a.n.a.lyze the situation. She couldn't even tell what she would have done in Sarah's position. She knew only that Will was gone, and there was a deep rent in her chest where her heart had been. Her shoulders sagged, and she felt herself sinking onto the couch. Her face dropped into her hands, and in the next second, the cushion dipped down as Sarah sat beside her.

"I tell you this," Sarah whispered. "I am sorry."

And at that, Ellen let slip the few tears she had left.

Chapter Ninety-one.

Ellen got home, hollow and spent, raw and aching. She tossed her bag and keys on the windowseat, and stamped powdery snow from her snowy clogs. She took off her coat and hung it up, but it fell onto the closet floor. She didn't have the energy to pick it up. She was thirsty but didn't get anything to drink. She was hungry but didn't bother to eat. She didn't even have the strength to be mad at the reporters, following her back from Sarah's, plaguing her with questions. Oreo Figaro came over to rub against her shins, but she ignored him and went upstairs to read Sal's piece.

She clopped slowly up the stairs, the sound of her clogs like the ticking of a clock slowing down. She had never felt like this in her life. She was empty, a ghost of a person. She went into her office on autopilot, flicked on a light, and crossed to the computer. She sat down and moved the mouse, and her computer monitor woke up with a screensaver of Will posing with Oreo Figaro.

Please, no.

She opened up Outlook and watched the boldfaced names pile into the Inbox. She waited for Marcelo's email to load and braced herself to read the article. But Marcelo's wasn't the email that caught her eye. She moved the mouse, clicked on another email, and opened it, reading quickly.

And then she screamed.

And when she stopped screaming, she reached for the phone.

Chapter Ninety-two.

Ellen shot up like a rocket, sending her desk chair rolling back across the floor, and ran to the door, then tore down the stairs.

Clop, clop, clop, clop, like a racehorse she sounded. She reached the living room, grabbed her purse and keys from the windowseat, s.n.a.t.c.hed her coat from the closet floor, then flung open the door and hit the icy air. like a racehorse she sounded. She reached the living room, grabbed her purse and keys from the windowseat, s.n.a.t.c.hed her coat from the closet floor, then flung open the door and hit the icy air.

She slammed the door shut behind her and went flying down the steps, spraying snow everywhere, her heart in her throat, heedless of the reporters, who surged forward as they had five minutes ago, raising cameras that had been at rest and flicking on generators to power up klieg lights and microphones.

"Hey, where you going now?" a reporter called out, filming her, and the others joined in. "Ellen, what's going on?" "You going back to Sarah's?"

Ellen tore through the snow on her front yard, staying on her property where the press couldn't follow, struggling in the deep snow to get to her car, as the reporters shouted questions from the sidewalk.

"Can't you give us a statement?" "Ellen, come on, give us a break!" "What's all the activity? You going to see Will?"

Ellen chirped the car door open, jumped in, and switched on the ignition. She threw the car in reverse while she hit the b.u.t.ton to lower the driver's window. "Move, move, everybody!" she hollered, gesturing frantically out the window, her heart pounding. "Get out of the way! Get out of my way!"

"Where are you going?" "Have you heard from your son? Are they letting you see him?"

"Move, move, MOVE!" Ellen reversed out of the driveway, hitting the gas until they jumped out of the way. Some shouted questions while others sprinted to their cars and newsvans, ready to follow her again.

"Ellen, they're staying at the Four Seasons, did you know? Is that where you're going?"

"MOVE!" Ellen put the car in drive and hit the gas, spraying road salt and snow, speeding to the corner, and turning left so fast that she almost fishtailed on Wynnewood Road. She kept control of the car and accelerated up the plowed street in almost no traffic, and by the time she hit City Line, she was being followed by newsvans with microwave towers and an array of pursuit vehicles. The traffic light ahead turned red, but she hit the gas and powered through the intersection. She pa.s.sed a snowplow, a bus, and even an ambulance at speed.

Nothing was going to stop her.

Not now, not ever.

Chapter Ninety-three.

Ellen hurried from the waiting room behind Special Agent Orr, pa.s.sing the thick gold seal of the FBI, the framed picture of the president and the attorney general, the Ten Most Wanted posters, and whatever else was hanging on the off-white walls. She followed Special Agent Orr down the glistening hallway and reached a wooden door with a plaque that read CONFERENCE ROOM CONFERENCE ROOM.

Special Agent Orr twisted the k.n.o.b. "Here you go, Ms. Gleeson," he said, admitting her, then leaving.

Ellen stepped inside, getting her bearings. She had driven the farthest to get here, so they were all already in place. Special Agent Manning stood up at the head of the table, and on the near side, Ron Halpren stood up, too, with an uncertain smile. He was dressed in a tux from a benefit dinner, and Ellen shook his hand.

"Sorry to disrupt your night, gentlemen," she said, sitting down next to Ron. She nodded at Special Agent Manning, who retook his seat at the head of the table. "Thank you, too, Special Agent."

"It's my job." His smile was only polite and he was dressed casually, with a blue FBI windbreaker over a light Oxford shirt. Behind him was a large smoked-gla.s.s window that overlooked the snowy city at night. "I just hope this isn't a wild goose chase."

"It isn't." Ellen looked at the other side of the table, where Bill Braverman sat glaring in a sport jacket and polo shirt, next to his lawyer, Mike Cusack, who dressed like him.

"So why are we all sitting here?" Bill demanded, his eyes flashing with anger.

Ellen composed herself, folding her hands on the conference table, and took a deep breath.

Chapter Ninety-four.

"Okay, here goes." Ellen paused, her heart in her throat. She was about to drop a bomb, and she met Bill's eye with sympathy. "The fact is, you're not Will's father."

"That's a lie!" Bill shot back.

"It's true, and I have proof."

"You're insulting me and and my wife!" my wife!"

Cusack placed a restraining hand on Bill's arm. "Please, allow me."

"Why should I?" Bill tore his arm away, glaring at Ellen. "You don't fool me for one minute! What kind of scam is this?"

"It's not a scam."