Page 265 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

Sara nods. “The arrest warrant was just issued.”

The room goes silent.

Bryce Biggs. Wanted for aviation fraud, corporate sabotage, evidence manipulation, and involuntary manslaughter, pending formal charges.

For four years, I lived beside a grave built on lies. For four years, Megan carried blame she never deserved. Now the truth is finally crawling into daylight. And Bryce is running out of places to hide.

My phone vibrates.

Unknown number.

I answer instantly. “Strong.”

“Mr. Strong?” a clipped voice says. “This is Special Agent Collins with the FAA investigative task force. We need to arrange immediate cooperation regarding the Bryce Biggs warrant.”

I look through the glass wall of the analysis room toward the city skyline beyond. Chicago gleams in the morning sun as if nothing terrible has ever happened inside it. But somewhere in this city, Bryce knows the walls are closing in.

Good.

Let him panic.

I’ve been drowning in grief for four years.

Now it’s his turn to be afraid.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Addy

I findout Bryce has been arrested while eating peanut butter straight from the jar in Ethan’s kitchen, wearing one of his sweaters and compression socks that make me feel ninety years old.

The television is on mostly because Oliver likes the weather graphics and keeps insisting Chicago is “under attack by aggressive clouds.” I’m half-listening while trying not to gag over the smell of scrambled eggs Ethan made approximately three hours ago that still somehow exist like a threat.

Pregnancy is magical.

The news anchor’s voice sharpens suddenly.

“…breaking developments this afternoon in the ongoing Strong AeroTech investigation…”

My entire body goes still.

On screen, flashing red banners cut across footage of downtown Chicago.

STRONG AEROTECH FORMER ENGINEER ARRESTED

My stomach drops so fast that I grab the counter. “Oh wow.”

Ethan looks up immediately from across the kitchen table where he’s been pretending to read emails while actually staringinto the middle distance like a deeply traumatized billionaire statue. “What?”

Then he sees the television.

Everything in him stills. The footage changes. Bryce in a dark jacket, being escorted down courthouse steps surrounded by federal agents and cameras. His face is tense, furious, trying to hide panic and failing at it.

I stare at him. And for the first time since Milwaukee airport, he doesn’t look larger than life.

He looks small, cornered, human.

The anchor continues speaking.