We both look at Richard.
He's still at the desk. Hands flat. He knows what's coming.
"Where would she go?" I ask. "If she's taking Max out of state. Where?"
"I don't—"
"Think." Zero. One word. Richard flinches.
"Her sister. Georgia. She lives in—in Wisconsin." He stops. Swallows. "She’d go there, I think."
Fuck. We have to move.
"Let’s go get him." Atlas is already mapping the hotel. "Fourteen minutes from here."
Zero looks at me. The same thought behind both our eyes. Fourteen minutes. If those flights are tonight—if Margot is packing Max into a car right now, heading for the airport—fourteen minutes might already be too late.
I look at Richard.
"We're leaving," I say. "And when we come back—ifwe come back—you and I are going to have a conversation aboutwhat happened in that foyer. But right now I want you to hear something from all three of us."
He looks at me.
"You put your hands on him," I say. "In front of his mother. In our house. To our—" I stop. The word I almost say is omega. I catch it. Redirect. "To the person we love. And we will never forgive you for it. Not today. Not next year. Not ever."
Zero, behind me: "You're dead to us."
Atlas, by the door: "We'll discuss the business arrangements separately. But the personal relationship between you and your sons ended last night in the foyer. We'll be in touch through attorneys."
Richard opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "I'm your father."
"You were," I say. "Come on."
I turn. Zero turns. Atlas holds the door for us and closes it behind him without looking back.
We walk down the hall. Through the kitchen. Past the foyer. Atlas grabs the keys off the hook. Zero is already at the front door, pulling it open, and I am two steps behind him when he stops.
He stops so suddenly I nearly walk into his back.
"Zero—"
He doesn't move.
I step around him. Look past him through the open door.
The fountain is running. The porch light catching the spray.
And Max.
He's sitting on the edge of the fountain. Knees drawn up. The olive canvas jacket. His lip swollen, the bruise dark even from here. He looks small against the stone.
Not on a plane. Not in Wisconsin. Not gone.
Here.
Thank fuck.
He looks up. Sees Zero. Sees me. Sees Atlas.
