Ian hung up the phone. Mason was in custody. The FBI had Stark’s files. They knew everything. His office was surrounded.
The number of views continued to spiral upward.
500,000….600,000.
He’d be at a million soon, and that was only the beginning. He was looking at what was certain to become the most-watched video of all time.
Ian opened the drawer and stared at his father’s pistol.
98
The outrigger canoe bobbed on the early-morning swell.
“Is this the place?” asked Grace.
“It better be,” said Jessie. “I’m done paddling.”
Mary gazed out over the sea toward the green slopes of Maui. A gentle breeze blew off the island, bringing the scent of gardenias and frangipani. Across the channel the rising sun gilded Lanai’s coast with a rich golden warmth. She stowed her paddle. “I think your father will like it here.”
“What do we do now?” asked Jessie.
Mary opened her rucksack and took out a small iron box. Five months had passed since Joe’s death and the events that followed. There had been a service in Boston, but she’d decided against a formal burial. Joe needed to be where he was happiest, and he’d always been happiest on a beach somewhere with his girls. She handed Grace the box. “Remember, not all at once.”
Grace held the box over the side and carefully shook loose the ash. She put her hand in the water and laughed at some private thought. “Bye, Daddy.”
Jess took the box next. She held it in her lap for a long while, saying nothing, staring into the fine dust. Then, abruptly, she thrust the box over the ocean and tipped it, sprinkling the ash in a circle. As abruptly she handed the box to Mary.
Mary held it in both hands. She’d said her goodbyes long ago. She lifted her eyes to her daughters, Jessie, now sixteen, and Grace, twelve…her husband’s daughters…and thanked him for such a wonderful blessing. Then she poured the remainder of Joe’s ashes into the Pacific Ocean.
“Okay, you guys, the flowers.”
Jessie took off her lei and dropped it into the ocean. Grace followed suit, then Mary. A fourth lei flew high into the air and landed amid the disappearing ash.
“Nice shot, Tank,” said Grace.
Tank Potter smiled. His hair was cut short, and he’d lost fifty pounds during his stay in the hospital. Mary had visited him often, and they’d grown close. The girls adored him. He was family.
“Can we go now?” said Jessie. “There’s no cell service out here.”
“You brought your phone?” asked Grace.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Mary stared out across the ocean. She wanted to believe that everything was going to be perfect. Grace would stay in remission. Jessie would come to terms with the ordeal she’d suffered. Tank would learn to walk without a cane one day, and maybe even win the Pulitzer for his series about Ian Prince and ONE. The future held promise and mystery in equal parts.
For the moment, though, she was thinking only about the present. Ian Prince was dead. ONE Technologies was under investigation for a litany of crimes. Edward Mason was in prison. In recognition of Joe’s (and Mary’s) services, the FBI had awarded her his salary through retirement. And some unknown party had restored the family’s checking and savings accounts to their previous levels and paid off their hospital debt. Mary refused to take more, though she did allow the unknown party to buy herself a brand-new laptop and iPhone and to give her little sister a new pet: a three-toed South American tree sloth. Grace named him Sleepy.
All that mattered right now was that Mary was with her daughters and a man she cared for.
It really was a beautiful morning.
“Yes,” said Mary. “We can go.”
Tank dropped his paddle into the water and began to stroke.
Mary matched his timing, and together they began the journey to land.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the following people for their invaluable assistance: Stephen Kahn, Steve Elefant, Phil Trubey, Mat Honan, Sally Anne McCartin, Kris Bergen, Dr. Douglas Fischer, Stan Scheuffler, Jon Lee, David Yorkin, Pradeep Tarbat, Esq., Ed Antak, Gary Burdick, and Dr. Jon Shafqat.
At Doubleday, my thanks go to John Pitts, Rob Bloom, Bette Alexander, Todd Doughty, Bill Thomas, the entire Random House sales team, and, finally, to my editor and friend, Jason Kaufman. It’s been a great run, and I couldn’t be more grateful for all the incredible effort expended on my behalf.
Last, and most important, I want to give a heartfelt “shout-out” to my team at Inkwell Management. Hugs to Charlie Olsen, Eliza Rothstein, Michael Carlisle, and, of course, to my agent, Richard Pine. Invasion of Privacy is our tenth book together. I still remember the day in May 1996, when Richard called from New York saying he’d read the manuscript of my first novel, Numbered Account, and asking if he could represent me. I’m pretty sure I said yes before falling off my chair. Thank you, Richard, for taking a chance. Here’s to ten more!
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christopher Reich is the New York Times best-selling author of The Prince of Risk, Rules of Deception, Rules of Vengeance, Rules of Betrayal, Numbered Account, and The Runner. His novel The Patriots Club won the International Thriller Writers Award for Best Novel in 2006. He lives in Encinitas, California.
Invasion of Privacy: A Novel Page 36
