Anastasia and Keira Phoenix were orphans. Their parents were killed by a drunk driver on Storrow Drive more than three years ago. Keira had been her sister’s guardian and the executor of their parents’ estate. When Keira disappeared and was declared legally dead, all finances transferred directly to Anastasia.
Now, those closest to the family are wondering—what really happened to Keira?
Regina Villanueva believes there is more to the story. “Anastasia is involved in some sort of crime, like with mobsters or drug dealers or something,” says Villanueva. “The killer threatened me if I said anything, but I can’t stay quiet anymore. I have to do this for Tyson. He deserves justice. Someone killed him to get to Anastasia. The killer told me so. And what did Anastasia do when I confronted her with this information? She went back to Europe. She’s off on some big vacation like none of this is happening. How sick is that?”
Last month, Anastasia Phoenix returned to Boston for the funeral of Tyson Westbrook, and according to those in attendance, she openly bragged about her escapades abroad.
“She stood outside of the church, right after the funeral of her supposed best friend, telling everyone what an awesome time she was having,” says Julianna Gold, a twelfth grader at Brookline Academy. “She said she was getting wasted, drinking wine all the time. She thought it was so cool that they don’t card in Europe.”
“She’s traveling over there with her boyfriend,” Villanueva reports. “They’re running around Tuscany making out in vineyards while she’s supposedly grieving her dead sister, while her best friend is being murdered. She’s the one person connected to all of this!”
[Photo Insert of Anastasia and Marcus kissing. Marcus isn’t identified.]
“She told me she smoked all this pot in Amsterdam,” said Wyatt Burns, captain of Brookline Academy’s state championship baseball team. “I think she was stoned at the funeral.”
Adding another layer of mystery, rumors have begun to circulate in the Boston business community that Anastasia’s parents, Michael and Irina Phoenix, may not be deceased. Evidence of corruption has turned up aimed at their former place of employment, the Dresden Chemical Corporation, leading to rumors that the Phoenixes faked their deaths to avoid prosecution. Police refuse to comment on the speculation, but our sources claim a connection exists between the Phoenixes and Havana, Cuba, a country that refuses extradition.
Is this a real-life story of Phoenixes rising from the ashes? In the case of Keira Phoenix, it appears so. And if you believe the proof of life photograph, two questions remain—is Keira Phoenix still being held hostage somewhere? And is her sister, Anastasia, behind it?
“What the hell?” I screeched, glaring at the supposed “news” article from a popular Boston tabloid. This was printed—publication date and all. That meant people read this, about me, about my family. It was all lies and distortion.
“That photo of Marcus and me was taken months after Keira was taken! After we were almost killed!” I shouted, pacing Julian’s study and glaring at the image of Marcus and me kissing in Tuscany following our violent confrontation with Luis Basso. It took up a quarter of the page. “I wasn’t off on some adventure, and we weren’t having a romance! We were freaking out!”
“We know that,” Charlotte said, her voice controlled as if she were talking to a woman with one foot dangling off the ledge.
“And you! They name you and your parents like you’re co-conspirators because you took me in! Because you fostered me. My whole family was dead!” My sight clouded, the room tilting. I dropped my head, dark hair falling in my face, and squeezed my temples tight. I couldn’t breathe.
“This would explain why my parents have been calling so much these past two days. I was so busy with Cross and the depositions, I didn’t get back to them.” Charlotte ran her fingers through her frizzy blond hair. “They must be losing it.”
“They think I kidnapped my own sister!” I yelled, tossing my hands in the air at the ridiculousness of the idea. “What is wrong with these people? How could Regina say that stuff?”
“She’s grieving. She wants someone to blame. So do we.” Charlotte’s big eyes were sympathetic.
“They said they would kill her whole family if she spoke. What is she thinking? You know they’ll do it!” An image of Regina’s little brother in a teeny tiny casket flashed in my brain. No, no way. No more funerals. “They act like I kidnapped my sister for money! Our parents left us with nothing but an apartment. Nothing! We ate Ramen noodles for years. How could they possibly think I had a financial motive?”
“Because most people commit crimes for money,” Charlotte reasoned.
“I didn’t commit a crime!”
“We know that.”
“If I may,” Julian interrupted, his British accent so annoyingly polite it made me want to hit him. “I happen to be quite familiar with being accused of a crime you didn’t commit by major news outlets.” He eyed me pointedly. “You must know this is the work of Department D.”
I hunched over, hands on my knees. Department D, obviously, it was them. Okay, what did that mean? I inhaled slowly, trying to control my breathing, stop the spinning.
“Notice there is no mention of Marcus’s name, even though he’s present in the photo. His face is obscured from the image, mostly because he’s kissing you, but still. He was a classmate of yours. Your friend, Regina, she knows his name, right?” Julian asked.
I nodded. Of course she did. She threw the picture in my face in the church alley. She’s obviously the one who gave it to the media, to the police. How could she not take those threats seriously? Was anyone protecting her? Her family? I pulled at the collar of my long-sleeved T-shirt, fanning myself with the fabric, desperate for air.
“Marcus’s name was left out for a reason—because the Reys don’t want it published,” Julian continued.
“Okay, go on.”
“Think about it—the information about your parents possibly being alive, in Cuba, that didn’t come from your friend. We just found out about that. The only people who could possibly know that information would be those working for Department D,” he continued. He was on a roll, and I stayed silent, my eyes pleading for more. Answers, I needed answers. “Look at the publication—The Boston Tattler, it’s a gossip rag. They had to place the story there because there are no facts to substantiate these claims. No reputable news outlet would print this. It’s a bunch of rubbish, a Big Foot sighting, except the sightings are your family members.”
“But the photo of Keira, the proof of life, that’s real, and it says the police have it.”
“Keira’s survival is quickly becoming a poorly kept secret. The CIA knows, Department D knows, so why not the Boston PD?” said Julian. “The truth was going to come out eventually.”
“But why would Department D expose us now?” I collapsed onto a leather couch, dropping my head onto the cushions, my brain relieved Julian was doing the thinking.
“Because it makes you look bad,” Charlotte said. “All of us. This makes us look like liars.”
Julian sat down on the sofa beside me, his Caribbean blue eyes drooping with empathy. If anyone understood what I was feeling right now, it was him. “Department D must know that these Dresden Kids are here, with us, that we’re acquiring evidence, and so far…Who does all the evidence point to?”
I saw the trail of breadcrumbs. “My parents.”
“Exactly. This article makes your family look like it’s hiding something. It makes you all look guilty of something,” he explained. “When the truth about Department D comes out, the evidence is going to point to your parents, and so far only your parents. If it turns out your parents are alive, the spectacle that will create—”
“Added to the fact that we lied about Keira being alive…” Charlotte moaned, also catching on.
“It’s your family that’s going down for everything. All of you.” Julian sounded truly sorry. Like he said, he did know what it was like to have his family name ru
ined by the press.
“Department D, Marcus’s parents, Randolph Urban…” I shook my head feeling so incredibly stupid. “They’re setting us up.”
Chapter Twenty
Keira didn’t take the news of her reported resurrection very well, nor the fact that I was being accused of her fake murder. After a lifelong dream of being in the tabloids, she’d finally made it—for this.
“You really think it was Antonio’s parents who planted the story?” Keira asked as we wandered through Julian’s English gardens, alit with twinkling white Christmas lights put up by the caretakers. We hadn’t even realized it was the holiday season. We’d missed Thanksgiving without noticing, and now the world was ice-skating toward Christmas while we were stuck in a Halloween horror show.
I pulled my new wool scarf tighter around my neck, purchased with proceeds from the sale of our brownstone. So far, that was what all that “estate money” got me—underwear, mittens, a scarf, and socks. But hey, who wouldn’t kidnap their sister for that?
“The Reys were in that surveillance photo with me,” I said, still strolling beside her in the frozen grass. “They work there, so they obviously have access to the footage. And Cross thinks it’s them—Tyson, the message to Regina, everything. He thinks they want Mom and Dad to take the fall, and they’re using us to get to them.” That was our most viable theory, that I was dating the son of the people who murdered my best friend and who were trying to frame me and my family. And people wondered why I had trust issues?
“You know Marcus and Antonio don’t believe this.” Keira stared at her boots, hiding her eyes, likely because she felt the same way and didn’t want me to see it. I wasn’t the bad guy.
“No one wants to believe it, and I don’t blame you.” I shrugged, glaring at the cement gray sky. Maybe Marcus was right; maybe it did match my eyes, perpetually full of storm clouds. “I didn’t want to believe our parents were spies until you were held hostage and declared dead.”
Keira stopped in her tracks. “Anastasia, you said this to me once, and now I’m saying it to you.” She grabbed my hand, her thick wool mitten clutching mine. “It’s time. We need to go to the CIA. We need to sit down with Martin Bittman and give him everything we have, all the evidence, all the Dresden Kids. Then we do whatever they say. If they want us to go into hiding under fake passports again, we do it. This time we stay there. If they want us to draw out Mom and Dad, we do it. It’s time to let the professionals take over. This needs to stop.”
I stared at the Christmas lights glowing in twilight, hovering between barely noticeable and starting to shine. My nose was running from the cold, but still I insisted we have this conversation outside, away from all of the kids who hated us, all the ears that could listen. This was about Keira and me. Our family. Our decision.
“I hear you. But right now, all the evidence points to Mom and Dad. If we walk away, the Reys and Urban get off scot-free. Can you live with that? They’re setting us up.”
“So we tell the CIA that. We have them look into it.” Keira shook her head with the exasperation of a person who was simply done. “It’s either this, or we go public and listen to Julian. Is that what you want?”
“Don’t even say that.” I was not going to become a late-night punch line.
I was seventeen years old, and I wanted a life, my own life, on my terms, not some hand-me-down life left for me by my criminal parents, not some fake life that witness protection could offer, and not some freakshow of a spectacle that Julian would create. I wanted to be me—in college, with Marcus, and my sister back in med school. I wanted us free to make our own choices. And I wanted that for every other kid in that house.
“So what’s left? What do you want to do now?” Keira flung up her hands.
I wanted to fight, all the way to the end. If we gave the CIA our evidence, eventually they might uncover crimes that point to Urban and the Reys, but what if they didn’t? We’d be taking the chance that they might elude justice all together. After everything they’d done. Yes, these people were Marcus’ parents, and yes, Urban and I shared DNA and some baby photos; but Urban also kidnapped Keira, and the Reys were the most likely candidates to have murdered Tyson. There had to be a way to implicate them. Not eventually. But now.
“The last time I spoke with Cross, he promised me he would send us a Dresden Kid who would have hard evidence against Urban.” I looked at my sister through the darkening sky, shadows defining her deep frown and heavy brow. I could already see she didn’t like what I was saying. “Let’s see if Cross pulls through. If we can find one case that points to Urban, then I’ll be ready to go to the CIA. But I need to know Urban will go down for something, if not for what he did to you.”
Keira shook her head, cold puffs of frozen air expelling from her mouth as she stared at the amber lights inside the compound, the silhouettes of the Dresden Kids moving about behind the curtains. “I’m afraid you’re going to get yourself killed, just so you don’t have to face him. You can put him behind bars, Anastasia, but it won’t change anything.”
I was not running from Urban, I was keeping my promise. I told Dani, I told all the Dresden Kids, that we would make these people pay. They deserved that, and so did I.
“It’s not about him.” Though I really wasn’t sure. Maybe it was, but would we ever be able to live normal lives knowing they were still out there? Right now, we had a chance to bring them all down, to end this for good. We had to take it.
I looked toward Julian’s estate, all the shadows moving inside. “Mom and Dad destroyed every family in there, and they’ll pay for that. I just need to make sure that Urban and the Reys pay too. For Tyson, for you, and for me. I need that.”
Keira shrugged, head tossed back, knit cap nearly slipping off her head. She knew she had no choice. “Fine. If Cross finds a kid who can point to Urban, we’ll do it. But that’s it. One more try.”
I nodded in agreement.
An hour later, Cross called.
…
Rio de Janeiro and Barcelona.
That was where Cross wanted us to go.
Charlotte and Julian gave us the news as we gathered in the study. Meanwhile, the Dresden Kids were playing pool, swimming, and getting drunk utterly uninterested in our sudden strategy session. I, however, had become an expert on how many steps it took to get from one antique bookcase to the other—fifteen. One side of the room held leather-bound classics, like Charles Dickens and the Bronte sisters, while the other held nonfiction tomes, from scientific journals to World War II accounts. I couldn’t stop pacing.
“Tell me everything,” I insisted as Charlotte’s fingers flew over her keys.
“Cross has two names that he swears will provide evidence against the Urbans, plural.” She smiled coyly.
I stopped dead. Urbans?
“Julian and I need to verify the intel, but it appears the Rio case will connect to Randolph Urban, and the Barcelona case will connect to…wait for it…Sophia Urban.” Charlotte pumped her brow like she knew this was the only thing on Earth that might lift my spirits from a basement of misery.
“Sophia? Are you kidding me?” I gasped, remembering the girl who mocked me at my parents’ funeral, and throughout my childhood. She practically cooed with delight when she showed up in Rome with an evil terrorist manual, handwritten by my father, that was used to bring down Julian. We were going after her. Maybe there was a God.
“Yup, turns out she’s a prolific flunky for Department D.”
“I wonder how that strawberry blond hair will look in a bright orange jumpsuit? Just the clashing colors alone will probably torture her.” I pictured Sophia’s pale face, the shock of disbelief when we turned her in to the authorities, and for a brief moment I felt like we might be nearing the end of this. If we could point the authorities at Randolph and Sophia Urban, I could strut away with all the vindication I’d ever need. Closure achieved.
Charlotte looked at Antonio, who was leaning against the doorjamb watching us l
ike a spectator sport, not saying a word. He wasn’t inserting himself or cracking jokes or hitting on my sister. Maybe he finally realized the seriousness of the situation. Or maybe I was wrong about him all along. “Cross says you spent time in Rio last year. You and Marcus want to go there?”
His eyes met Keira’s, and already I didn’t like the nonverbal exchange that shifted between them.
“We were talking…” Antonio looked at me. “We think we should split up the teams.” Instantly, he held up a hand like he knew my rebuttal was coming. But he cut me off. “Escúchame. If everything you suspect is true, and my parents really are setting up your family, do you not think you will be safer with one of us? My parents aren’t going to hurt Marcus or me.” He gestured to his brother for support, and Marcus nodded. Clearly, they’d discussed this without me, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Marcus stepped toward me. “The article changes things. Someone is coming after you, directly, publicly. And who knows where they’ll stop, what that message to Regina really means? I do not think you girls are safe on your own.”
“I have a double black belt in karate,” I said. I fought Craig Bernard and won.
“Yes, you can fight. But a karate chop is not going to stop a gun.” Marcus reached for my hand, his face urging me to listen. “Por favor, I do not have a good feeling about this. We don’t have to go.”
Keira joined in, side by side with Marcus. “I want to get Urban as much as you do. I was the one taken from our apartment, but I’m not chained to a sink right now, and neither are you. We have other options. You can still change your mind.”
They wanted me to trust the CIA, but that organization hadn’t done anything for us except hand us a couple of passports and hope we led them to our parents. They didn’t find Keira. I did. They didn’t tell me my parents were alive. I found that out on my own. They had decades to arrest Urban, the Reys, and my parents. And they didn’t.
Lies That Bind Page 19
