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“I JUST LEFT her. She’s fine,” Byron says brusquely.

Hastings presses his lips into a thin line.

Fine is hardly the word he’d use for Emma.

What was it she said in that awful video?

We’re at the brink of total disaster. Everything is going wrong.

He can’t exactly argue that she’s wrong, at this point.

“Have you read the Boston Globe article? We can’t let—”

“That woman will be out of a job by EOD,” Byron says. “So just listen to me. You can’t lock up my daughter. It’s technically kidnapping. And you can’t keep her phone and laptop away from her either. She’s protesting, and you’re interfering with her freedom of speech.”

Hastings grits his teeth. “I understand your argument,” he says, not mentioning that the man has just threatened Rachel Daley’s job, essentially taking away her freedom of speech.

But he’s dealt with the überrich his whole life—he knows the rules apply only where they want them to.

He picks up his coffee cup and then sets it back down again, debating his words.

“But this isn’t about Emma’s constitutional rights; it’s about her welfare. ”

“Are you suggesting that I’m not concerned about her welfare? What Emma needs right now is stability. Consistency. Removing her from school, from her friends, is going to take away one of the few things my daughter has left.”

And his daughter is the only thing he has left. Could that be a touch of vulnerability in Byron’s voice? But it doesn’t even matter. The man refuses to believe that his daughter is a danger to herself.

“We’re in uncharted territory, Mr. Blake, and I can’t let Ridgemont be the setting for a tragedy.”

“It won’t be,” Byron says. “Jesus Christ, are you not around enough teenage girls to understand how they act? She’s being dramatic, sure. But I know my daughter better than you ever will, and I would never let anything bad happen to her. So you need to—”

But Hastings has had just about enough. Byron might as well have tossed out the word hysteria, the way he’s dismissing teenage girls—half of the student population whose well-being Hastings is responsible for. “Sorry, what?” he says. “Mr. Blake? You’re cutting out!”

This time it’s the headmaster who hangs up on the lawyer. Peregrine Hastings feels adrenaline rushing through his veins.

I can’t believe I just did that.

It feels so good, he wishes he could go back in time and do it again.

Actually, if he could go back in time, there are a lot of things he would change, starting with paying attention to Emma’s mental state when she came to Ridgemont after her mother died, and monitoring her more closely when Claire committed suicide.

But since he can’t go back in time, Hastings has to figure out what to do next.

Tick tick tick goes the big black grandfather clock that once belonged to Edgar Ridgemont. It’s the day before the fire—that’s what Emma said. Time is running out.