Camille sat on the floor in the overcrowded living room. It had been nearly six weeks of living with Jackson, and all their stuff, in her tiny house. Sitting on the couch provided too much perspective into the chaos of boxes and belongings, so she’d taken to bringing herself down, below the disaster. Perhaps she’d been wrong to refuse Jackson’s multiple offers to rent a hotel suite while his house - their house - was being renovated. It just seemed so frivolous. Especially considering she had a perfectly fine living space.

The memory of the day, so many years ago, when she moved out of the first house they all shared, had gone hazy. It had been one of the most painful days of her life, one of the few in which she honestly considered that Jackson King might not be a part of her future, even as a friend. His habits had made it too difficult to share space. But now they’d spent weeks on top of each other, in every possible way, and she only loved him more.

The disorganization and mess were an entirely different matter. They had weeks, maybe months, before they could move and she wasn’t sure she could take it. She just didn’t function well in chaos.

An unrecognized number appeared on her phone. “Hello. This is Camille.”

---

She sat frozen, hunched over her phone, mouth open, well after the end of the call.

“Cam, what’s wrong?”

Jackson had just entered the house. She couldn’t look up or away from her phone screen despite the fact that it held no information other than the smiling face of the man who was standing above her.

“I just got the strangest phone call, Jack. I have to go down to the police station. Something’s going on about my parents.”

He dropped down to his knees. “Your parents? Who died thirteen years ago? What is this about?”

“I don’t know. But I need to go find out.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

He helped her up and led her to the door. “I’m coming with you.”

They were greeted by two burly officers at the station and led to a conference room that looked more like a large jail cell than a place for conversation. Camille distracted herself by examining the cracked walls, peeling paint, and trying to ignore the industrial smell. She expected to find the large two-way mirror she always saw in police shows, but there wasn’t one. The introductions began with the handful of men in suits - FBI, apparently - and continued with the men in police uniforms. There were five of them, total.

Jackson spoke first. “Can someone please tell us what’s going on here? This is obviously very upsetting for my girlfriend.”

Camille looked over at him. God, she loved how strong he was.

The one who introduced himself as Agent Sawyer answered. “Yes. We appreciate you coming down here. The Bureau is working on a joint case with the SFPD and we think you may be able to help.”

“You said on the phone this has something to do with my parents. That was so long ago. I don’t understand.”

Sergeant Williams spoke next. “Ms. Moreau… we’re going to start at the beginning.”

Camille braced herself.

“We recently came upon some information that sheds a new light on your parents’ death.”

Ice filled the center of her chest. “How could that be? They had an accident? What other information could there be?”

“Ms. Moreau-“

“Please call me Camille.”

“Fine. Camille. We believe your parents were murdered.”

She jerked back, hitting the chair so hard it screeched across the concrete floor.

Jackson sprung up and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You better have a damn good reason for saying something like that.”

“Mr. King-“

“It’s Doctor King.”

“Yes, well, Dr. King. We have evidence.” The sergeant looked over at Camille, quickly wiped the concerned look from his face, and cleared his throat. “Approximately eighteen months ago, a man currently in custody made allegations about a crime scheme that permeated the highest levels of city governance. We’ve been investigating his claims, most of which have been substantiated.”

Williams paused again and pressed his lips tightly together. His eyes shifted from one of his colleagues to another. “We were informed about an organized crime ring and their attempts to subvert the judicial system. Records reveal hundreds of payments made to some of the city’s top officials. Politicians, administrators, judges.”

Camille flinched at the last word, not wanting to hear what she already knew was coming next.

“Your father’s name was on that list.”

Her gasp was partially stifled by her own hands flying up to her mouth.

“Allegedly, several judges took significant amounts of money for throwing trials. Your father’s name appeared on the ledgers for many years. And then something happened.”

Camille swallowed against the violent urge to throw up.

“What happened?” Jackson never let up his grip on Camille, while projecting his voice to fill the large room.

“He tried to stop. We found communications that indicated he wanted out. He was in the middle of a high profile case and refused to deliver a false verdict. We believe he was killed to remove him from presiding over the case.”

“No!” Camille’s body shot up, almost knocking Jackson over. “They died in an accident. He was flying the plane that they crashed in. It was an accident. And none of that stuff you said about him is true. It’s not true!!”

Another officer spoke. “Ms. Moreau, we understand this might be upsetting-”

“Are you kidding me? It’s not upsetting, because none of it is true.” The hysteria in her voice stood in stark contrast to her false words.

They all nodded at her. Sergeant Williams continued. “Unfortunately, we strongly believe it is all true.”

Jackson gently led Camille back to her seat. “What do you want from us? Why are we here? Clearly my girlfriend knows nothing about this.”

Agent Sawyer raised his hand to stop the officers from speaking. “We need your help.”

“How can I possibly help with something I know nothing about?” If not for Jackson’s steady hands, the tremor through her body might have vaulted her off the cold, metal chair.

“The evidence is significant. Enough to put many people behind bars. But there’s more. And we believe you have it.”

“I don’t have anything. What are you talking about?”

“That letter from your father also indicated that he held on to the most damning evidence, as leverage. We believe he could lead us to the people at the top of this scheme. The ones we haven’t yet been able to name.”

Jackson aimed all of his attention toward Sawyer. “How could she possibly have this evidence? She has nothing to do with any of this.”

“It’s with his things.” She spoke with a breathy monotone. “It’s with their things, isn’t it?”

A different, deeper voice, responded. “We believe so, Camille.”

“I can tell you where those things are.” The storage locker whose bills she paid, but that she had never entered or examined. She stood up. “Can I leave now? Are we done?”

Agent Sawyer’s stoic expression flashed to the quickest smile she had ever seen. “We appreciate your cooperation. This is incredibly helpful. There’s something else, however.”

Camille swayed, catching herself with a hand on the back of the chair.

“You might want to sit down, ma’am.”

Camille glanced at Jackson, who bowed his head toward the seat. He remained standing behind her.

“The people behind this… they’re very dangerous. They have a lot to lose by us finding this information. They might retaliate.”

Jackson slapped his palms onto the table. “Are you telling me that we are in danger? That Camille is in danger?”

Camille blinked the thoughts away.

“It is a possibility, Dr. King. We are willing to provide you with full protective detail if needed.”

Camille shook her head. “This is not happening.”

Williams leaned in toward her. She could almost see compassion in his eyes. “Ms. Moreau, the threat of danger is low. But we want to make sure you’re safe. We believe this case extends far and deep into the local judicial and governing bodies. It’s hard to know who to trust. It’s best to be completely safe.”

“Holy shit.” All the breath left her body.

Jackson ran his hand down the back of her hair. “How long do you think this is going to last?”

“It’s hard to say, Dr. King. It depends how quickly we can find what we’re looking for.”

Jackson walked around to the stack of papers on the metal desk. “I hope you realize how much you’re asking. We have a good life. A beautiful life. It’s bad enough that Camille had to go through this horrible tragedy. Now you’re taking her through hell again.”

Camille reached out for his hand. “It’s okay, Jackson. I can handle it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” His voice cracked

Both Sawyer and Williams put out their hands. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

---

Camille made it all the way through the station, the drive home and into bed before allowing the rush of fear, grief, and rage to overcome her. Jackson held her through the night as she sobbed. By the time light filled the room, the tears had dried and an idea solidified itself in her mind.

She waited until Jackson began to stir. She was glad he had slept, even though she had not. “I have to get rid of the money.”

“Cam, what are you saying?”

“That money my parents left me. It’s from my father’s crimes. I don’t want it.”

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t care. Burn it all, maybe.”

“Cam, it’s impractical to burn millions of dollars. And wasteful. It could be put to great use in this world.”

“But it’s dirty, Jack. Tainted.” The tears began again. The father she thought she knew had been replaced by a despicable criminal.

“I understand, love. I think we have some urgent things to decide. What to do with the money is perhaps secondary.” He waited for a sign she had heard him. “We have to keep you safe.”

She burrowed more deeply into his side. She couldn’t imagine not being safe in his arms. “I’m not afraid, Jack.”

“I know, love. But I’m not taking any chances.” He tilted her chin upwards to look at him. “Let’s go away. Anywhere you want - Italy, Thailand, Brazil. Anything.”

“I don’t want to run away from this. I don’t want this ridiculous threat to turn my life upside down.”

“Let’s not think about it that way. Let’s think about it like a well-deserved vacation. You’ve been working so hard and I’ve been wrapped up with the new book. We’re managing a home remodel. We haven’t had a minute. We’ve earned this.”

“I’ll think about it. If you promise to not dismiss my ideas about getting rid of the money.”

“You have a deal, Cam. And I’ll even take it further. I have a friend who consults with big companies about charitable giving. I’ll get in touch with her and get some information on how we can distribute this money. How does that sound?”

Camille bit the side of her lip. “Are you upset, Jack? It might be selfish of me to not want to keep it… for us.”

“That was only ever your money, Cam. I support whatever you want to do with it. Our future never involved any of it.”

She made herself relax. “Thank you. I’ll think about where I’d like to go.”

“Great.” His body softly molded itself around her.

“And I never, ever want to go back to that station again. Ever.”

“I will do everything I can to make sure you never have to.”

Her eyes closed heavily. Relief brought fatigue, but her body had a different plan. Her hand slid around to cup his bottom and press him into her. “There’s something else I think might help.”

“Yes, please.”

“Who would you like to help, Camille? What would you like your money to do?”

Ramona had a nice face. Camille knew she would be beautiful. She had dated Jackson, of course. But she was much kinder, and much less arrogant than the women Camille had gotten used to seeing around him.

They had decided to sit outside at a cafe, taking advantage of an unexpectedly warm day. It felt good to get out of the house.

“I’m not sure, Ramona. I was hoping you could help.”

“Absolutely. Glad to help.” Ramona squeezed her hand. “First thing to sort out are the categories of charities you’re interested in. There are many to choose from - hunger, clean water, medical research, human trafficking…”

Camille couldn’t hold back a grimace.

“Don’t worry. There are also hundreds of organizations that support the arts, music, dance, education.”

Camille relaxed. “First thing that comes to mind is something with kids. I know there are organizations that teach girls to code. I’d love to support that. And women’s shelters. And maybe homelessness.”

“That’s a great start. Why don’t you send me your thoughts, and I’ll compile a list of possibilities. With the amount of money you’re ready to donate, you’re going to do a great deal of good.”

“I hope so. That’s the whole point of this.” Camille pushed down the encroaching sadness.

“Listen, I don’t want to overstep, but Jackson told me a bit about your… situation.”

Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Her father being a criminal wasn’t something she wanted anyone to know.

Ramona smiled so sweetly, it was impossible for Camille to assume judgment on her part. “There might be another way to approach this.”

“Okay…”

“Have you thought about restitution? About helping out the individuals, or organizations that support those individuals, directly? In cases like this, when the money has deep significance, it can help to know that you’ve provided a matching counter to whatever harmful act occurred. It can still be anonymous, which I would recommend, but you would know. And it might help you heal.”

Camille could’ve fallen in love with the woman sitting across from her. That was a brilliant idea. Exactly what she was looking for. But…

She tilted her head. “How would that work? I mean, I don’t know who was harmed.”

“I would assume that most of the cases are now public record. It would take some work, but you could find them.”

Understanding the possibilities, Camille’s eyes opened wide. “Yes. You’re right!”

“It’s not strictly my area, but I’ve got lots of connections who can assist you. I’d love to help make this happen.”

“Wow.”

“I’m going to be away for the next week or so. Heading to the east coast for some family stuff. I might not be as accessible as usual, but I can take care of anything you need when I get back.”

Camille wanted to spring up and give this woman a big hug. She kept herself in her seat. “My gosh, Ramona, I can’t thank you enough. You’ve already been so helpful. And kind. I’ve known most of Jackson’s exes, and I can’t think of a single one who would be this great.”

“Well, you’ve got to stop thinking about me as Jackson’s ex. We hardly dated. And that was back in college, a million years ago. I’ve been hearing about you for so long. I’m glad we finally had a chance to meet.”

This time, Camille followed her instinct and walked to the other side of the table and gave her new friend a deep hug.

Camille opened the door at home to a view that made everything better. Jackson, wearing his Kiss the Chef apron, creating wonderful sights and smells in the kitchen.

He greeted her with a soft smile. “Hello, love.”

She gave him a kiss that raised the temperature in the already steamy kitchen by a few degrees.

“Mmmmm. That was nice. How was your meeting with Ramona?”

“Good. I love her. She was so nice. And helpful.”

“You sound surprised. Expecting something else?”

“You forget that I’ve met all your ex-girlfriends, darling.” She winked at him.

“Touché. So, what did you two decide?”

“She had the best idea. I think I want to help some of the victims of my father’s schemes. Lots of people got screwed. Maybe I can make some of it right again. She called it restitution.”

Jackson’s eyes doubled in size. “Cam, that sounds… ambitious.”

“I know. But I have some ideas and Ramona’s going to help. How hard could it be finding out who was involved in his cases?”

Jackson shook his head. “Cam, you know I’m behind you for any and all of this. But this idea sounds too dangerous. Don’t forget that each of these cases was a crime being covered up. Digging around might piss off the wrong people.”

“I told you, Jack. I won’t let myself be frightened by this.”