S crew him . Screw him and his stupid square jaw, and his beautiful cheekbones, and his dumb, perfect hair. Raphael North can go guilt himself directly to hell. But then…that’s the whole point. He will guilt himself directly to hell. He’ll allow himself to carry the guilt of Chloe’s death for the rest of his life, and no matter what he thinks, that is my fucking business. It’s already going to be hard enough as it is, trying to build a life with him. We’ll never work out if the Waldorf Hotel accident lingers over us for the rest of time. There will always be a sour note twisting the happy moments of our lives, and I refuse to accept that. I will not tolerate it.

I’ve stopped crying by the time I leave the Osiris Building’s parking structure. I don’t like what I’m about to do. I don’t like it one bit, but I need to clear Raph. I need to have him cleared, so he can start living his life again. He’s been trapped up there in his penthouse overlooking the city for so long now that I really believe he has no idea what the real world is like any more. For so long he’s been a prisoner, first held by the state, and then by his own conscience. Like most people who get locked away, I think he’s come to accept the confines of his imprisoned life. He’s so used to staying there now and having people come to him when he needs to have meetings, having people drop off groceries, to clean and bring him his laundry, so used to experiencing the city from such a distant, great height, that anything else seems terrifying to him, that anything else must seem frightening. I get it. I don’t fucking like it, but I get it. He’s going to need time. A lot of time. Once I’ve managed to have Chloe’s death ruled an accident, maybe it will be easier for him to face the world, though.

I allow Nate to drive me across town, mostly because I don’t know where I’m going. He doesn’t mention my black mood, or the fact that I’m stabbing my fingernail into the stitching of the leather armrest like I’m trying to rip it open. He doesn’t say a thing until a taxi swerves in front of our car, nearly hitting us, and I buzz down the window and lean out, screaming like a banshee at the other driver.

“I take it you and Raphael had a falling out, then?” Nate asks airily.

“Something like that.” The words barely have room to slip out between my clenched teeth.

“Do I need to ask why…?”

“Because he’s a pigheaded, rude bastard.”

“Oh. Yeah. That .” Nate is obviously trying not to smile. “Should I even bother asking why we’re burning across town to try and exonerate him if he’s such a pigheaded, rude bastard?”

I let my head rock back, and I close my eyes, sighing—the very sound of surrender. “Because…I’ve fallen in love with him,” I say quietly. “Not the smartest move, I know, but…it’s too late. It’s true. I’m in love with him.” Nate doesn’t say a word after that. We travel the rest of the way across town in silence, my confession hovering in the air between us like a toxic cloud.

The Haliday, Falcon & Ross Investments and Wealth Management firm is right where you’d expect it to be: on Wall Street. I haven’t been there before, though, and I have no idea how the hell I’m gonna get into the building, so Nate’s company is a blessing. He parks a block away in a public parking lot, and then the two of us walk over to the building together. “Are you sure this is the easiest way for us to get hold of a copy of the accident report? We’re legally allowed to petition for a copy from the police department, you know?” I say.

“I’ve tried. Raph put a block on all requests pertaining to his case. I’m sure there was an element of bribery involved, but the case files have ‘gone missing,’” he says, throwing up air quotes around the last two words. “I know Paxton has a copy because he took it from me a couple of days after the accident happened. I asked him for it back shortly after, but he kept forgetting to bring it with him when he came to visit Raph at the penthouse.” Nate holds the heavy glass entry door open for me, ushering me inside the luxurious lobby of the Haliday, Falcon & Ross offices. The building isn’t a skyscraper. From the outside, it looks quite simple and reserved, only six or seven floors—very small by Wall Street standards. It’s only when you walk inside that Haliday, Falcon & Ross’s true status hits you; they own the whole building. They don’t share with any other firms or businesses. The entire seven floors is theirs. There might be a couple of other firms based out of New York that could afford to purchase such prime real estate and hoard it for themselves, but none of them bother. It’s a ridiculous, not to mention unnecessary, expense. The company must pull in a staggering amount of money every year to justify such a grand display of wealth. And if Paxton Ross is a partner, he must be banking an obscene paycheck every month. We’re talking six figures and above, easily.

Nate places his hand in the crook of my elbow and walks through the lobby, his eyes on the floor. “Look casual,” he tells me. “Or…just stop looking so fucking guilty.”

“I can’t help it,” I hiss back. “I feel like we’re breaking and entering or something.”

“The receptionists are assholes. They won’t let us up without an appointment. We both know Paxton, though. If he doesn’t want to see us or he’s in meetings, we can always come back. Shit. Don’t look to your left.”

It’s almost impossible not to look to your left when someone tells you not to. Miraculously I manage to pull it off. “What’s happening?”

“Security guard,” Nate shoots back under his breath. “It’s okay. He’s headed the other way now. Hold the door!” Nate hurries forward, jamming his hand between the doors of the elevator, preventing them from rolling shut. He drags me onto the car, scowling at the three men inside who take their sweet time moving back to make room for us. Their suits are Armani, their swift assessment of my friend and me more than a little disapproving. No one says a word as the elevator rises. Not. One. Word. It’s the slowest elevator ride of my life.

Paxton’s office is on the top floor, of course. The men in the elevator with us must be really good at their jobs, too, because none of them get off at any of the lower floors. We all exit together, and the three of them stand in the hallway, watching us fiercely as Nate pulls me off to the right, hissing at me to hurry.

He guides us down a labyrinth of hallways, passing people without so much as flinching. When we reach the expansive corner office that belongs to Paxton Ross, the man is nowhere to be seen. The walls that form Paxton’s office are made of glass. All of them. The huge room is like a goldfish bowl. Inside the office, the chair is neatly tucked under the desk, as if no one has sat in it all day. It definitely doesn’t look like Paxton has just stepped out and will be back any moment. There’s a small desk to the entrance of the office—presumably Paxton’s assistant’s desk—which is also empty.

“It’s only two,” Nate muses. “He could be coming in for an afternoon start and working late. These guys do that sometimes.”

“You have his cell phone number?”

Nate shakes his head. “Never asked for it. I don’t particularly like the guy. If you haven’t noticed, he’s an arrogant, pompous asshole.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

“Thalia probably has his contact info. Maybe you could ask her for it. While you’re doing that, I’m gonna crack this lock.”

“Nate! We can’t just crack the—” It’s too late. Nate’s produced a long, silver tool of some description and he’s wedged into the Yale lock. Surprising that it’s not a key card system. Security probably never anticipated people sneaking past them and making it unhindered up to the top floor of the building.

“You’d better get on the phone to Thalia,” Nate says, as he works furiously on the lock. “I’m gonna be through this in a second, and it’d be nice to know where to look for the file.”

“How do you even know it’s here?”

“I don’t. Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Paxton would keep at home though. Too easily lost. Or stolen .” He winks at me, and I can’t help but laugh nervously under my breath. I told him downstairs that it felt like we were breaking and entering. And now we are breaking and entering. And stealing police reports. This situation could go horribly, horribly wrong here. If Paxton chooses to be angry over us busting his office door open and taking the report, he could easily have us both arrested. Press charges. My hopes of ever becoming a lawyer would go up in smoke, just like that. Poof!

I take out my phone and find Thalia’s number, then I hit call. The phone buzzes for an extraordinarily long time before she eventually picks up.

“Hi, Beth.”

“Hey, are you okay? You sound sick.”

There’s a pause, and then Thalia says, “It’s nothing. Just a head cold. I’ll be clear of it in a couple of days. Listen, I want to apologize. My behaviour was so shitty the other day at Raph’s place. I drank way too much, and I kept on—”

“I’m sorry, Thalia. Can we talk about this another time? I need Paxton’s number from you ASAP. It’s important.”

“Important? What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. Nate just explained to me about the brake lines being cut on Raph’s Maserati the night of the accident. He thinks it was intentional. That the person who cut the lines is still out there. Apparently Paxton is the only person who still has a copy of the accident report.”

“Oh my god. Are you...are you serious ?” For a second she sounds angry, and then she’s crying, sobbing tears of relief. “I can’t believe it. I seriously can’t believe it.”

“I know. We need to find this file, though. The truth is somewhere inside that paperwork. We need to study it and figure this out, and to do that we need to speak to Paxton.”

“Of course. I’ll send you his number now. Beth?”

“Yeah?”

“Paxton has a false back on the top drawer of his filing cabinet. Check there. You might find what you’re looking for.”

A secret compartment? What kind of person would have a secret compartment in their filing cabinet? My insides are in knots all of a sudden, twisted up and tangled, making me feel nauseous. The kind of person who has things to hide, that’s who. Nate said Paxton wouldn’t give back the file when he asked for it after the accident; he said he repeatedly forgot it. Why would he have done that if he knew Nate was trying to clear Raph? Surely he would have pored over the information inside the file with Nate, trying to help find the key to proving him innocent. As I hang up the phone, a weighty sense of dread is settling into my bones. Nate must have heard everything Thalia said, because he heads directly for the filing cabinet and pulls the top drawer open, reaching into it. His expression is deadly serious as he roots around inside, hunting for the false back to the drawer. A moment later, the concentration on his face dissolves and his hand withdraws from the filing cabinet, holding onto a file of paperwork at least an inch thick. “Well, that was easy,” he says.

My cell chimes in my hand. I check it and see that Thalia has done what she said she would. Paxton’s contact details stare back at me from the lit screen. “I don’t think,” I say slowly, “that we should contact Paxton after all.”

The right hand side of Nate’s mouth lifts up in a tense smile. “Yeah. I kinda think you might be right.”