Chapter 5: Two Hundred Fifty Thousand

On Tuesday I went to work, because the rent on Anthony's guest room was two hundred a night.

The clinic was in a strip mall in Millvale, between a nail salon and a tax office.

I laid out the instrument trays for the nine o'clock cleaning.

The hygienist at the next chair was watching me over her mask.

"Is it true you told your brothers no to two hundred fifty grand?" she asked.

"Who told you that?"

"Everyone. It's on the video comments. Somebody who was in the study posted it."

I had not known anyone was in the study with a phone.

"It's true," I said.

"Please tell me you have a plan."

"I have a pen and a guest room," I said.

She laughed so hard she had to pull her mask down.

Then the front bell rang and she stopped.

"Lizzie?" the receptionist called. "There's a man out here who says he's your brother. He brought flowers."

I knew it would be Rowan before I walked out.

He stood in the waiting room in a charcoal overcoat, holding white roses. The receptionist was already blushing at him.

"Lizzie," Rowan said, and his whole face softened. "There you are."

Two patients in the waiting area looked up from their phones.

"I'm working," I said.

"I won't take long. Five minutes. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

I led him into the supply hall and stood with my back against the shelves of gauze.

Rowan set the roses on a box of masks.

"I was out of line on Saturday," he said. "Pierce was out of line. I've told him so."

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