The flashes were the worst.

Bright lights from every direction, unexpected, like lightning without a storm.

Frightening when one didn’t know what it was.

Terrifying even when one did.

Trick Daniels went to the press, just as promised, and the press and paparazzi were ecstatic to have the hot, wild-child art thief (because it was no fun to believe he was innocent) Raff Rivera back in their sights. They didn’t care that the “wild child” was now a thirty-something-year-old father, nor that his tiny daughter was generally in-tow. Too many times already, the bright lights had startled Elizabeth and caused her to cry, and she also didn’t like having her daddy throw his jacket over her when he saw someone with a camera approaching.

More and more, he was afraid to leave the apartment.

The night before Raff called Trick to tell him he would not be blackmailed, he sat Chris down, started to give him one of his “world famous” neck massages and unfolded his tale. And just as his friend Sam predicted, Chris was concerned and compassionate. He’d always had a soft spot for teenaged Raff, with no one to help him or look out for him. When hearing him describe the shame of having maimed someone, he grabbed Raff’s hand and squeezed.

“You must have been so scared.”

When Chris heard that Raff was being blackmailed, however, he got mad.

He also got rational.

“There’s nothing we can do, except maybe take him to civil court. We can’t get him on slander because it’s not against the law to tell the truth, no matter how disgusting his motivation is. But we can help put him in jail.”

Raff knew what he meant. That old attitude of refusing to snitch against his “brothers” no longer made sense. Trick had proven he wasn’t his “brother” when he threatened his family. Chris called the District Attorney’s office the next morning, right after Raff told Trick that he wouldn’t be blackmailed.

They watched Trick’s press conference together, just a few days later, holding hands tightly as the man with the greasy smile spilled Raff’s darkest secret.

“In 2001, Rafael Rivera was arrested after causing an accident in which a man was permanently disabled. Witnesses stated under oath that Rivera was heavily intoxicated at the time. Rivera was never charged or tried, despite being a legal adult at the time. The record was sealed. Less than four years later, Rivera was again arrested, this time for the theft of a priceless work of art, and he was inexplicably found innocent by a jury. Said jury was not informed of Rivera’s previous arrest. Now I have been charged with the theft of that painting. I had nothing to do with it. This is part of a cover-up by the District Attorney and the judge to protect Rivera. I beg the New York Attorney General to investigate this cover-up. I’m an innocent man without many resources. It will be a travesty of justice if I’m sent to prison only to protect a guilty man.”

Raff was truly incredulous. “Why would the DA and judge be protecting me? I’m . . . nobody.”

“Not nobody,” Chris said, softly. “Don’t say that.”

“You know what I mean. I was a foster kid with no money. The prisons are filled with guys like me. It doesn’t make sense.”

Chris shook his head. “Don’t try to make any sense of what he says. Trick Daniels’ only motivation is protecting his own ass. He’s desperate. And, don’t you forget it, he’s guilty. He’s guilty of the art theft, and he’s guilty of blackmail. He needs to pay for that.”

Raff knew why Chris said this. He wasn’t comfortable testifying against Trick or anyone else who might eventually be charged. But it was the right thing to do.

The swarming of the press began within minutes of the end of the press conference. Their apartment was on the fourth floor, so at least no one was trying to look in the windows, but the doorbell rang incessantly and even the neighbors were being harassed. That didn’t make Chris and Raff very popular. Chris got a protective order that prevented them from camping out on the front stoop, but the sidewalk was public property and the journalists had no shame. Raff and Chris had to order their meals and groceries in, and even the delivery people were getting pestered as they came and went. Raff made sure to give them big tips.

When Raff did have to leave, Chris would distract the reporters out front by going outside and pretending he was going to make a statement, and Raff would slip out the back where an Uber driver would be waiting. There was a risk that the driver would be a jerk, of course, but Raff had the brilliant idea to hand the guy his tip up front.

“Here’s $20. Can you keep us away from the reporters?”

It seemed to be a successful tack.

Raff finally reached his limit, however, in a place where he did not think he had to worry. Following the usual protocol, he and Elizabeth sneaked out the back door, into a waiting Uber, and went to see her pediatrician. She had a cold and an earache that she couldn’t shake. Raff gave the driver the $20 with his spiel and then held a warm-pack to the tot’s ear during the entire ride. It was only a six-block ride, but he couldn’t risk walking it.

The waiting room was half full, mostly with mothers and little ones at their feet, flipping through Highlights magazine or pushing wooden cars on the carpet. Elizabeth lay listlessly against her father’s chest, rubbing at the side of her head with a whimper on occasion. Raff worried that they would have to insert tubes into her ears; a procedure that he knew was safe and effective, but still made him anxious.

It was clear that some of the parents had noticed him and were trying not to stare. His face had been on the news at least a few times before Raff and Chris decided to simply not turn on the television. Raff ignored them. He was there for his baby girl. As if to drive home that point, he kissed the top of her head, which smelled of baby sweat because she hadn’t felt well enough for a bath last night. It was still a sweet scent.

That’s when she threw up on him.

Being an experienced father, he swung into action mode, sweeping her up and getting to the corner bathroom in three large strides. He held her gently over the trash can until she was done, and then cleaned her up. Fortunately, he was wearing a t-shirt under his button-down and he threw the soiled shirt in the trash. Elizabeth was crying, but not screaming, as if she was resigned to feeling like hell and just wanted it over with.

“Poor Bizzy. I’m so sorry, baby. You’ll feel better soon.”

Tears finally gone, she rested her head against her father’s strong chest, and he carried her out into the waiting room again.

A flash went off right in their faces. A paparazzo, waiting for them in the doctor’s office. That fucking Uber driver.

Instinctively, Raff flung out his arm to protect his child, and he knocked the camera out of the photographer’s hand. The man started to yell something about assault and the parents in the room were yelling, too, gathering their kids with looks of terror. Raff’s thick arms created a protective cage around Elizabeth, and he ran.

The hallway and elevator were thankfully empty of reporters, but Raff had no way to know what was going on downstairs. If one reporter found him, however, he had to assume more were on their way. That’s how they operated. Once the elevator doors closed, he mashed the “stop elevator” button and called Chris.

“Get me a car, now. Back alley of Dr. Solomon’s office. Have him text me when he’s here.”

They stayed inside the little compartment, in peace and quiet, for almost five minutes before the text arrived. The car was there. Raff didn’t have time to wonder if this driver would be as big an asshole as the last one. Instead, he hit the button again and headed to the ground floor. As soon as the elevator stopped, Raff held his breath in fear.

There were at least five reporters with their camera people waiting, asking questions and standing in his way. Again protecting his daughter with his arms, he moved like a football player toward the back door where he hoped safety was waiting.

Just one car, idling, and the driver hopped out to help Raff and Elizabeth in. It was then that Raff realized that he’d been forced to leave Elizabeth’s car seat behind.

“Here’s a $50 bill, man. Please. Drive carefully and don’t tell anyone that you saw us.” Raff sounded exhausted, just the way he felt.

Chris was waiting for them at the backdoor of the apartment. “Dr. Solomon called in antibiotics for her, and he said no problem on rescheduling.”

“Fuck this, Chris. Fuck this.”

Elizabeth had fallen asleep on the ride home, comforted by the motion of the car, so Raff spoke quietly, but his words carried a big impact. He told Chris what happened in the pediatrician’s office.

Chris’s face went red and his lips formed a tight line.

“It’s drastic, but there’s one place we can go to get away from this.”

Raff nodded. “Let’s go to Stellar.”