Then Ryan appeared from behind a loading platform.
“Mom.”
I rushed to him.
He wrapped his arms around me.
“Where is your sister?”
“Upstairs.”
“Thomas?”
“With her.”
“Why are you standing beside him in that photograph?”
“It was staged.”
“By whom?”
“Thomas.”
Michael stepped forward.
Ryan looked at him.
The expression on my son’s face changed from confusion to rage.
Then Ryan punched his father.
Michael stumbled backward.
Daniel caught him.
“You let us believe you were d/e/@/d!”
“I know.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I was trying to—”
“I named my son after you!”
Michael’s face crumpled.
Ryan’s voice broke.
“And you were watching us the whole time?”
“Yes.”
Ryan stepped back as if Michael had struck him.
I placed a hand on my son’s shoulder.
“Later.”
Ryan nodded.
We climbed the metal staircase.
Thomas waited inside an office.
He was tall and thin, with white hair and the same deep-set eyes Michael had.
