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Chapter Twenty-Two

Marcus Flare is a solar system unto himself. Planets rotate around him , the moon his own face which reflects light back onto its creator.

I stare into the Michigan predawn sky.

Five planets are visible this early summer morn: Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn.

It is a rare sight, one I have not witnessed for years—since GiGi was alive and standing next to me—and I feel blessed to witness it.

It is clear and humid. I stand on the deck, which is slippery with dew, and stare into the sky.

The world is mine for a moment.

I glance at my cell: 4:59 a.m.

I might as well become a barista at Starbucks considering my hours. I now wake before dawn simply to field Marcus’s calls. He has made me part of his solar system.

I am waiting for him to call as he does every morning between 5 a.m. and 5:10.

At first, I composed updates and sent automated texts to him at five, but he did not like that.

“I need to hear your beautiful voice,” he told me.

Yes, he wants to hear my voice.

He wants me live because he enjoys playing with his prey.

Marcus Flare is not simply an author. He is his own universe of books, movies, TV series, speaking engagements, product and clothing lines, development deals, nonprofits, an imprint…

A publishing house.

Marcus Flare is a star. He lives in a rarefied world. He has global power.

Staring into the sky, I feel the gravity of my situation for the first time. I am not messing with any ordinary being; I am messing with a force of nature.

He could crush me like a meteor.

What am I doing?

Stars twinkle.

I am protecting my universe.

How many ideas did GiGi send him? What must it have been like for her to live on a knife’s edge of success and fear every single day, in a middle realm between being safe and being caught, of having it all and losing everything?

VV confirmed to me—confidentially, of course—that Marcus employs ghostwriters to help him pen his books with the promise he’ll support them when they are ready to publish their first novels. All sign NDAs. Their names do not appear on the cover. They do not get any credit. VV says this is a known fact in the back rooms of the publishing world, but readers do not know any better.

They believe he does it all himself.

They believe he has always done it all himself.

VV said a source at Marcus’s publisher told her over a multi-martini meeting one night that none of his ghostwriters have yet to publish a book. He simply profits off their talent and hard work. He stands on their backs to reach a higher level.

And now he wants to break my family’s back.

My cell rings.

I will become Jamie Lee Curtis and take Michael Myers down if it’s the last thing I do.

“Good morning, Mr. Flare.”

“You sound like you’re actually saying it with respect for a change,” he says, his voice absolutely giddy. “Good girl. Update?”

“I’m reading like crazy,” I lie. “I’ve become friendly with my mom’s assistant, and she’s given me access to the slush pile at The Mighty Pages. I told her it’s research for a book I want to write.”

“You’re quite sneaky.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sure I’ll have something soon.”

“I love it, but time is ticking,” he says. “I want to make my big first launch announcement later this summer while we have the media still buzzing. As you know, we’ll need a year to build that momentum before we stick a spear in the dying dragon.”

“I promise,” I say. “Nothing’s been quite bad enough yet. I want to find you the perfect manuscript, the literary equivalent of Showgirls . The buzz that leads to the bomb.”

“My God, you are good,” Marcus says, his voice growing giddier. Then it deepens. “Why are you being so cooperative now, Emma?”

Think fast.

“Because I want to be successful no matter what it takes,” I answer, voice as cool and calm as the lake. “I will do anything to become a writer like you.”

“Keep this up,” he purrs, “and I just might hire you to work for me after I acquire The Mighty Pages. Or maybe I’ll take a look at that manuscript of yours. For real. If it’s passable, you could become one of my ghostwriters.”

He gasps dramatically.

“Oops, I said that out loud. Ghostwriters! I guess I’m beginning to trust you. Don’t make me regret that, or it won’t be pretty.”

Yes!

I want to scream, but I keep my mouth shut.

“You heard me, right?” he presses.

“Yes, sir.”

“I know it’s shocking, but I actually require some assistance writing three books a year. But I will sue you if you say a word publicly. But you won’t have a penny to pay me so that won’t do me any good now, will it?” he laughs.

I remain silent.

“You’re actually considering my offer, aren’t you?” he asks.

What? Am I? Is that why I hesitated? Do I hate my family that much?

No. Just more Marcus mind games.

“I would definitely be honored by your consideration,” I say. “Thank you for your friendship and mentorship, Mr. Flare.”

“Friends? We’re becoming friends?”

He says it like a cartoon cat might when it has a frightened mouse cornered. He continues.

“But this is exactly why I asked to work with you, Emma. I knew from the moment we first met that you were a chip off the old block.” Marcus sighs. “People think we shouldn’t hate, but it’s one thing in this world that fuels our collective fire. It’s what makes the world go round. It’s what makes people interesting. And that will never change.” Marcus blows into the phone. “The only thing hate needs is oxygen, then—poof!—if will ignite. The hate you have for your family—which you mistakenly directed at me in the beginning—was just waiting for oxygen, and I have finally given that life. Doesn’t it feel good? You’re welcome, Emma. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He hangs up.

I stare at the lake, still dark and sleeping. But on the horizon, a rim of light.

“Which one is family?” I ask out loud. “The one who loves us unconditionally and protects us from the world, or the one who seeks revenge?”

I already know the answer. Marcus has taught me one thing at least.

Family can be either, depending on who is helping us write our story.