Chapter 2

Sullivan called at 11:40 the next night. First time he'd reached out in six months.

I let it ring three times before I picked up, just to feel what that was like.

A woman spoke first.

"He didn't mean to call you." Quick, low, like she'd grabbed the phone off the counter before he could. "Your name just popped up. And look, it's better you hear it from me anyway."

"Hear what."

"He wants it done. The papers. So I'm handling it, since he's got a lot on his plate right now." A little pause, sweet as anything. "Can we get them signed this week? Clean."

I'd have known that tone anywhere. The one you use when you've already won and you're just tidying up.

"Put him on," I said.

"He's busy."

"Arianna. Put him on."

A pause. Shuffling. Then his voice, flat and far away.

"Zainab."

"I'll sign," I said. "Whatever you want. I won't fight it."

Silence. Longer than it should have been.

"…Okay," he said finally. "Okay. Good."

That was it. That was what five years bought me. Okay. Good.

Six months ago I'd have thrown the phone. I'd have begged him to remember the basement, the ring, the summer we slept in the park because the room was too hot.

Instead I just stood there, and the wanting came up hard and fast anyway.

Not for this man. For the boy from the basement, the one who gave me the last of the takeout and lied about being full. For one second I missed him so much I couldn't breathe.

Then I remembered that boy had wished me away too. On camera. In front of four million people.

The wanting went out like a match under a tap.

"Goodbye, Sullivan."

I hung up.

I'd have left him his luck on the way out, if he'd said one human thing. Let it drain slow. A kindness he'd never know I did him.

He said okay, good.

So I kept it.

I was still standing in the dark kitchen when the phone buzzed again. Dana.

You didn't hear this from me, she wrote. He lost the Hendricks account this morning. Whole thing. First deal he's lost in five years.

Then, a beat later:

He just stood there in the conference room and didn't say anything. I've never seen him like that.

I read it twice.

Then I put the kettle on, and the water ran hot on the first try, the way it always does for me.

Somewhere across town, the luckiest man alive was learning how to lose.

I wanted a front-row seat.