She breathes in deeply. “And he used me—a visibly Western woman—to gain their trust, to lure them into his realm. But I started out as one of them. Just another victim. A young, insecure, and naive white girl from rural Quebec.”
“You’re claiming you didn’t know what he and Sanjay were doing?” Poppy demands. “You’re going with the abused woman defense? Saying you didn’t knowyouwere luring them to their deaths?” She glowers at Lillith. “Dr. Marsh told us there’s an inflection point where a line is crossed, when victim turns into villain.”
“You’re a fine one to judge, Poppy,” she counters gently. “You, who know all about being trapped in a toxic relationship.”
She surges to her feet. “I stopped it. Iendedit. I did what I could to survive—I’m asurvivor.” She repeats it, underscores it, because she needs to believe it with every fiber of her being or she can’t cope withwhat she did—she has nowhere else to compartmentalize it. “That’s what I am. A survivor.”
“So am I. All us humans are. Until we’re not. Because then we’re dead. Until that point, we’re surviving, as best as we can with what we know and what we have. I was seduced by that man—you heard Gideon describe our meeting at his talk. Vincent targeted me the moment I arrived in Kashmir with my ex-fiancé. Then after months and months and months of daily letters professing love and adoration, promises of a life with him, I sold everything in Quebec. Despite my family’s warnings, I went to him. I flew to Bangkok, wearing the little serpent necklace he’d sent to me with a note identical to the one in the gift box left in my suite.”
The words from the note tumble through Poppy’s mind.
If you are wearing this when you arrive
I will know your answer.
Forever yours. Forever mine.
Locked together.
“Vincent began emotionally manipulating me from the moment he picked me up at that airport in Bangkok—first by immediately withholding affection. He was unwelcoming, cold. It was a fundamental shock after receiving his daily letters of love. When I grew desperate and said I wanted to go home, he suddenly showered me with love, gifts, physical affection. He played me like this—like a yo-yo. He isolated and trapped me. He kept me from renewing my Thai visa, and then it was too late. And my passport expired. I was in Thailand illegally. He ensured I had no money of my own. He monitored my mail. Whenever I hit rock bottom again, he deluged me with gifts and trips and jewelry and physical affection. He gave me a new name. Fabricated me anew past. Aline-Claire had no idea who she was anymore. Veronique glimpsed her, but couldn’t get back to her. And then camemytipping point, Poppy. I learned I was pregnant. It gave me the will, the fire, the ferocity to escape. For you.”
Poppy’s knees sag under her, and she slumps back onto the chair. Her heart thuds. Her eyes burn.
“Yet you dumped me in a phone booth.”
“I got to England. I got away physically. But mentally, I was terrified of him. Chained to him. Part of me is still controlled by him. He has a power over me, even after all these years, and that scares me. At the time I truly believed he’d find me, come for me—for us. And he’d turn you into a monster. Like he made me one.”
She sips her water. Her hand trembles. She’s very pale now. Skin clammy.
“I don’t know if I can express to you the depths of my terror, or the psychology of it. But I left you outside that Catholic hospital because I knew they specialized in obstetrics and early births. Where I knew there were good people. I watched from across the street until I saw you were in safe arms. At the time, I believed it was the only option. That the best gift I could give my baby daughter was freedom—from myself and from Vincent. A clean life. An unmarred legacy. A life he could never touch.”
Poppy has no words. She can only stare.
“That’s my wish now, Poppy, as I prepare to leave this world. To finally give you the whole truth of where you came from, and the freedom to do with it what you will. You own it. You control it. If you choose to tell it to the world, that’s up to you. If you choose to exploit the fact you are Lillith’s daughter, that’s up to you. If you hold it close and keep it secret, that’s your privilege, too.
“Me—personally—I no longer plan to hide from the fact I was Aline-Claire. This is the end of my road. But the fact Aline-Claire had a daughter—that remainsyoursecret. One that Vincent, your father, must never learn.”
“So that’s why you wanted to know if I loved my adoptive parents?” she whispers. “And whether they were good to me? It’s why you wanted to know about my childhood in Africa.”
She nods. “Selfish, yes. But I needed to know you were better off than if I’d tried to keep you—a mother living under false names, traveling on stolen passports. A mother who couldn’t even register your birth without leading authorities back to Pakistan, India, Thailand—to him.”
“He didn’t find you, though, did he? I could have been your baby. I—”
“Turns out he did find me. He got Sanjay to hunt me down. I’d broken into Vincent’s safe in our Bangkok apartment, and taken several passports he’d stolen from women he’d killed. He’d taught me how to replace their photos with my own, forge stamps. But he remembered their names, and Sanjay used them to track me. Vincent might not have known I was pregnant, but all these years while he’s been incarcerated, he’s known I became Lillith McGregor. And as soon as he was released, he made contact. That was last year.”
“Blackmail?”
She nods. “He was fresh out of prison and needed money. He saw me—and Angus—as a potentially endless resource. He was going to extort us all. Expose the truth if we didn’t pay. This happened around the time of my health diagnosis.”
“Angus knew?”
“He did know about my past, before I became Lillith and a famous photographer. He was a complex man, Poppy. Both hard and gentle. Fierce, stubborn as iron. But he had a soft spot for me. He pulled me out of my addictions all those years ago. Part of recovery was telling him about my history. I told him about Vincent. Angus is also the only person I ever told about you. He loved me, Poppy. God knows why. He didn’t want this revealed to the world any more than I did. When Vincent called, I told Angus I needed to reach you before Vincent did—to tie up the loose ends. Angus’s days were numbered, too. He agreed. And he told me to take Avi.”
Poppy glances at the bodyguard—still standing, feet apart. Unmoving as stone. She swallows.
“Avi’s ex-Mossad. Dark ops. Angus did him a big favor decades ago. Avi’s been working for us ever since—as an off-the-books investigator and fixer. He helped me keep eyes on you. He helped me set up for the cruise.”
“I don’t follow.”
