Chapter 5: Terms, Mrs. Lathrop

Nathaniel did not say one word in the elevator.

The sealed envelope was inside my bag, and I could feel its corner against my hip.

He looked at the bag once and then at the floor numbers.

He didn't ask.

His penthouse had one wall of glass and one long couch, and a bedroom at each end of a hall.

"Yours is on the left," he said. "It locks from the inside. There's a key on the dresser, and I don't have another."

"Thank you."

"Good night, Imogen."

He went into the kitchen without another word.

I closed my door and turned the lock, and it was a heavy, honest sound.

I slid Gerald's envelope into the nightstand drawer without opening it.

Then I lay on top of the covers in the dark and listened to my own pulse.

Colby had let me think for five years that his brother was a monster.

Colby was a liar.

Gerald had held that envelope out to me with a smile, and Gerald was a liar too.

That left one man in the family I hadn't heard lie, and I had never heard him say much of anything.

At two in the morning, I gave up on sleeping and walked to the kitchen for water.

The light over the stove was on.

Nathaniel stood at the counter in a grey T-shirt and black trousers.

He had a bag of ice pressed to his right hand.

His knuckles were split.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"You hit something."

"A wall in the stairwell." He put the ice down. "Go back to bed."

"You went down the stairwell at one in the morning to hit a wall."

"I do it most nights."

I put down my glass and took his hand.

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