Not perfectly.
But clearly enough.
I had seen that face less than twelve hours ago.
Sitting beside me.
Defending me.
Telling me to trust him.
Daniel Reed.
My lawyer.
I looked up.
Alvarez’s expression was grim.
“Michael, we checked Reed’s claim that your father hired him eight months before the fire.”
My mouth had gone dry.
“And?”
“There is no record of it.”
The brass key sat on the table between us.
317.
Suddenly it didn’t look like an answer.
It looked like a trap.
My phone buzzed.
A text message.
From Daniel.
**Are you at the bank yet?**
Before I could move, another message appeared.
**Michael, whatever happens, do not show the police the key.**
Alvarez saw my face.
“What is it?”
I didn’t answer.
A third message appeared.
This one contained a photograph.
My heart stopped.
It showed Vicky.
Standing outside her school.
The picture had been taken months before the fire.
