Page 120 of Playboy Pitcher

“Yes,” he says, shooting a finger gun at me. “Which is why I always do my due diligence and dig under the cracks. And that’s where I found Basile Lavigne.”

The name strikes a chord. Furiously, I dig through conversations over the past few weeks, my eyes widening when it clicks. “That’s Willow’s friend. She worked with him at some art gallery and hung out at his tattoo shop a lot.” I lock eyes with Dad before he can ask the question. “Hementoredher.”

Soren nods. “Mmmhmm, he did more than mentor her, junior. Ten points to anyone who can guess who Basile Lavigne’s uncle is…”

“Henri Laurent,” Mom says, her eyes bright. I’ve never seen her like this. It’s like she’s a recovering addict playing a game of Connect the Dots.

“Give the lady a prize.” Soren grins, ringing an imaginary bell. “Old Bas got his uncle to fake a birth certificate and a couple of passports andbing, bang, boom, Emmaline Cadieaux becomes Emma McBaine.”

Dad rubs his chin, deep in thought. “That’s a little simplistic. The US authorities never caught on?”

Soren snorts. “New York is full of murderers, rapists, and drug dealers. You think they give a shit about some happy, well-adjusted teenager?”

Oh, Willow.

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as I recall all my demands of truth from her. I think of the dinner with Emma, and how hard it must have been to open herself to such risk just to take that leap of faith in me.

Leap.

I told her I would always catch her, but just like everyone else, I let her fall.

My heart races as pieces of a shrouded puzzle start to form a tragic picture. “Okay, that explains Willow’s secrecy, but that still doesn’t explain what happened. So, she stole Emma. It’s illegal, I get it, but it’s been ten years, and besides the people in this room, no one else knows.”

Soren wags a finger. “Not so, young Benson. Roger Mays kept eyes on his daughter while she was gone.” He looks at Mom. “Andwhen she came home.”

“He knew what she’d done,” I say with conviction. It’s like I told her, Roger was a good man and a good father.

“I would hope so,” Soren says, whistling as he flicks his fingernail against the document. “He’d been paying Basile Lavigne ten grand a month to keep an eye on her.”

Mom jumps up from her seat. “He left a paper trail.”

Soren scowls at her. “Stop trying to ruin this for me, Elodie. I was getting to that part. For the grand finale of this twisted little family fuckery, about three years ago, Roger started transferring money to another bank account.”

“Fuck.” I clench my teeth together so hard, my jaw locks. “Three years ago was when Willow said Roger and Drake met in Atlanta.”

“Baaaa! Fuck!Baaaa! Fuck you, Huey!”

Soren raises a questioning eyebrow. “Did that bird just make a goat noise?”

Dad just rolls his eyes.

Shaking his head, Soren continues his performance. “Three years seems to be the magic number. Because it’s also when Roger promoted a no-name employee to general manager.”

“Ned Riggins,” Dad says, disgust seething in his voice.

Soren cocks a dark eyebrow. “A man he allowed to run his franchise into the ground. Bad waivers. Bad trades. Shitty draft picks. Well, I don’t have to tell you, do I, Ben?”

“What are you saying, Soren?” Mom asks.

Soren stands, as if commanding a stage. “I’m saying Drake’s father-in-law has a nephew.” He waves the paper between his fingers. “Double or nothing, anyone want to take a wild guess at whathislast name is?”

“Riggins,” I breathe, wanting to chew up his name and spit it out. “He was a plant.”

Soren nods. “A plant who overheard Roger on the phone and called his cousin’s new boy toy.”

I close my eyes, the sounds of Willow’s raw confession ringing in my ears.

“I was already looking for an escape after my breakup with Drake. Then Brigitte called. This time was different. Dad was different. He was upset. I’d never seen him like that. Dad always had a bad habit of putting people on speaker phone. Personal, business, it didn’t matter. It’s eventually what ruined us.”