Page 29

“So, let me guess—you secretly occupy the whole building?” I peer beyond the hidden doorway that leads into yet another apartment.

“Just this floor,” my dad says, swiping a hand across his jaw. “It’s been in the family for ages.”

Our footsteps softly echo as I take a look around. The entertainment system is state-of-the-art for its time, and there’s not a single piece of second-hand furniture to be found. This apartment is so much nicer than the one he shares with Mark, it’s like stepping into a whole other world.

“Well, it’s definitely an upgrade.” My gaze lingers on a fridge that would definitely look dated in the twenty-first century, but in 1998, it’s top of the line. “It’s like the other side is staged to look like a typical undergrad’s apartment, while this side is more…” I pause, searching for the right words. “Bougie and aspirational,” I say, settling on two.

His lips pull into a half grin. “It’s like I said earlier, a lot of work goes into appearing normal.”

“I wonder what’s happened to it now?” I glance over my shoulder to gauge his expression. “And, by that I mean, the 2024 version of now.”

My dad shifts uneasily. “Considering everything you’ve told me about my disappearance, I suppose it’s left vacant. Which is something I can’t quite wrap my head around. I would’ve hoped I’d arranged for it to pass down to you, along with a considerable sum when you turned eighteen—same way it was handed to me.” He stops briefly at the doorway, lines of concern etching his brow. “I can’t believe I would’ve been so negligent,” he says, truly perplexed.

A hollow feeling creeps into my chest.Money. A potential inheritance that could’ve changed everything.The revelation of unclaimed wealth hangs heavily between us.

“Just because there was no inheritance,” I say, my voice flat, “doesn’t mean you’re to blame.”

“Arthur?” my dad says, as though reading my mind.

“Who else?” The words leave my lips with a bitter tang.

Just how long has he been watching me, manipulating me, steering my life straight into his trap, while I unknowingly played right into his hands?

“Well, there’s one thing I can change.” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a set of keys. My eyes follow his movements as he slides one free of the ring and extends it toward me. “It’s the key to this apartment,” he says.

I take it, feeling its slick, cool weight in my palm. I’m so overcome with emotion—gratitude and sorrow, such unlikely companions—that it steals my words along with my breath.

“When you’ve done what you need to, you’ll always have a place to call home. I’ll also arrange for an inheritance for you and your mom that Arthur won’t discover, so you’ll never be forced to rely on him again.”

Torn between desperately wanting the easier life that sort of inheritance will provide, and the fear of disrupting the already established events of my timeline, I say, “But isn’t that messing with personal history?”

My dad pauses, a bittersweet curl tugging at the sides of his lips.

“And besides,” I continue, “as hard as it was, that struggle is partly responsible for who I am now.”

“And who’s that?” my dad asks, eyes glinting with pride.

“Strong. Independent. And, thanks to you, ready to confront Arthur Blackstone, once and for all.”

My dad studies me for a long, silent moment. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll make you a deal. While I won’t mess with what’s passed, I will make provisions for your future. BehindThe Persistence of Memoryis a safe. I’ll change the combination to your birthday. Sound good?”

I nod, feeling so choked up, it’s difficult to speak.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says. “Do you mind telling me my future wife’s name?”

I hesitate. “Are you sure?” I ask. “I mean, knowing how it ends might spoil the romance, change the way you live that story.”

My dad shrugs. “I’m less interested in the surprise factor, and more interested in living a story worth telling.”

I’m about to tell him when I remember something I dragged all the way here—something I’ve had for a while but couldn’t bring myself to confront.

Am I ready now? Can I face what she wrote? And should I really share it with him?

My gaze shifts to my dad, as I reach into my tiny backpack, surprised to find his copy of the Antikythera Mechanism stashed inside.

“What’s this for?” I say, brow furrowing in confusion.

He shrugs. “I had a sense you might need it.”