The questioning goes on forever. My head is swimming, my heart pounding, the officers blurring into one endlessly gruff person asking the same questions over and over again.

“I didn’t want to do it,” I say at one point. “It was because of Charlie.”

Maybe they think I’m insane, that I’m inventing the character of Charlie to save myself, but I’m not.

Sometime during the middle of the night, an officer comes into the room where I’ve been sitting for hours now with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and half a sandwich that’s been delivered from a deli down the street. Every bite tastes like cardboard.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

A woman police officer comes in and glances at the empty tray, then sits down across from me.

“They’re checking up on your story,” she says, folding her hands on the metal table that’s bolted into the floor.

“Which story?” My lips are slow to move.

“About Charlie and this supposed crime ring. Let’s go over it one more time. You say you saw Charlie himself several times, and one other associate who was posing as a CD seller on the sidewalk.”

“Yes.”

“How many times did you see Charlie?”

The time at Adam’s apartment. Two times with the flash drive...no, three.

“Four times.”

“And when was the first time you saw him?”

“At my brother Adam’s apartment.”

“Do you have a way for us to contact Adam so he can confirm that?”

“Yes.” I give her Adam’s cell number. “But call him soon. Get him somewhere away from Elsie.”

“Elsie?” Her forehead wrinkles.

“Do you guys take notes or anything?”

She gives me a wry look. “Yes. But they’re not always available when you need them. Who’s Elsie?”

“My hometown. That’s where my brother is, and Charlie has been threatening to hurt him and my mother if I don’t keep giving him the information he wants.”

The policewoman leans across the table and lowers her voice. “Angelica, be honest with me.”

“I am being honest with you.”

“Are you in any way associated with the account those funds are being transferred to?”

“No!”

“Are you sure about that?”

I hold up both my hands. “I swear to God, the only reason I did any of this is because Charlie attacked my brother. Adam will tell you.”

“We’ll attempt to locate him right now.”

“Hurry.”

* * *

A little while later, my lawyer comes in. Turns out Sisterspark offers legal services for its employees. She’s a tiny woman, even shorter than I am, and she is wearing a terse expression. She explains that I haven’t been formally charged yet because it’s starting to appear as if I’m a victim of extortion.

“I’d say.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen. They’re not going to book you right now. In fact, it seems Mr. Brandon has urged them to proceed with caution.”

“I doubt that.”

“Did they find my mom and brother?”

“Yes, and a local watch is being posted at the residence. They’ll be safe for the time being.”

“Great. And what about me?”

She gives such a slight shrug that it’s almost imperceptible. “You’re not considered a flight risk, and if this Charlie character you told them about is actually running a crime ring targeting the ultra-rich, they don’t have any room for error. People with a considerable amount of influence are going to make life miserable for the NYPD if it turns out they didn’t invest their resources in shutting down a scheme like that.”

I nod. What else is there to say?

“So, Angelica, go home and stay there. The best thing you can do is sit tight while they investigate. It doesn’t hurt to cooperate, okay?”

“Okay.” There’s no clock in this room. “Is it going to be a pain in the ass for me to hail a cab right now?”

“I’ve got one waiting outside for you.”

* * *

When the cab pulls up outside my building, tears well up in my eyes.

“Thanks,” I tell the lawyer, handing her half the fare. I never got her name. I assume I’ll be seeing her soon.

“I’ll be in touch.”

My apartment is as I left it, silent and neat. Sarah still isn’t back—her business trip was extended—and at first I can’t tell what’s off about the space.

Then it hits me.

Jett.

I haven’t spent an evening without him since all of this started.

The lump that rises to my throat is so painful that for a minute I think I’m choking. I swallow past it, flipping on the lamp in my living room, but when I sit down on the sofa by myself, my body aches for him so badly that I can’t hold it in anymore.

It’s pathetic, sobbing alone in my apartment, so loud and fierce that I’m sure any neighbors who are still awake at this hour will hear and wonder if someone is hurting a dog or killing a seagull.

I cry until my stomach hurts, until there are no more tears left to shed, and then I get up and go into the bathroom. Turn the shower on hot so the steam fills up the room, and then I step inside pulling the curtain closed.

The water cascades down over my skin, washing off the nervousness and fear. I wash and rinse my hair meticulously, then scrub every inch of skin until it’s pink and clean and I’m confident there is nothing from the police station left on me.

When I step out, I reach for the fluffy robe that Jett kept for me next to the shower in his master bathroom, but my hand finds empty air. I settle for a thin towel. I should get around to replacing those sooner rather than later.

I look in the mirror.

I’m still mostly the same, with red eyes and skin flushed from the heat of the water. I could use a trim. I could use some sleep.

But there was one thing the shower couldn’t wash off.

The heartbreak.