Until We Meet Again(75)

in old cars. It’s extortion, and we’re not going to stand for it

another moment.”

“Lawrence.” Ned’s voice is hard.

“It’s the truth, Ned,” I insist. “You may have a faint idea of

the kind of people who you’re dealing with, but I’ve looked

into them. I’ve learned terrible things—”

“This is all entirely amusing,” Smith says without a shred of

mirth in his face. “The kid here thinks we’re the crooked ones.”

I snap my gaze to his. “What do you mean by that?”

“Leave it, Smith,” Ned says, his eyes burning.

“The boy’s going into law. He ought to learn the meaning

of extortion.”

“Not another word,” Ned growls.

Smith continues, talking over him. “In fact, I’m starting

to wonder if you have more double-crossing tricks up your

sleeves, Ned.”

“What is he talking about?” I demand.

Smith scoffs loudly. “Your uncle never explained the terms of

this lovely little merger we have going on tomorrow?”

A coldness creeps into me, snuffing out the anger. Ned is

breathing hard. He avoids my gaze.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice broken.

Smith shakes his head. “Your uncle has been so deep in

debt for so long that he can’t see up from down anymore.

And it’s gambling debt no less. Pathetic. His coming to us is

the only thing keeping him from being eaten alive by collection agencies.”

My head’s spinning. The ringing in my ears has returned.

“Ned?”

“He’s as much of a crook as I am,” Smith sneers. “We’re only

taking him on because he’s made big promises. Put some big

collateral on the line. He’s apparently made some patched-up,

shady deal with unnamed entities. He won’t even tell me who.”

“A vicious lie,” Ned says, tearing his hand across the table.

His glass of water flies through the air, smashing against the

wall with a tremendous crash.

Smith points a threatening finger at Ned. “Don’t you dare try

to deny it.”

“I will deny it. You can’t bring your lies and filth into this

home any longer.”

“You’re a fool,” Smith growls. He shoves his chair to the side.

“I’m not staying here another minute. As of this moment, you

can consider the merger off.”

Ned’s eyes widen. “Wait.”

“Forget it. I’m not going to be played as a fool, Foster. I don’t

know what you’re up to, but I sure as hell don’t like it.”

He storms out of the room. Ned flies after him. “Smith! Wait!”

I’m stunned, but rush after them.

The front doors are open. I can hear Ned screaming at Jenkins

to start his car.

I’m alone in the center of the grand entryway. It’s dark, and

a cold wind from the open front doors blows in. Chills prickle

all over my body. The room seems to be spinning, but I know

I’m standing still. The threat on my life has never felt so real.

So raw.

And then, from the grandfather clock in the study, the chimes

of midnight ring out.

It’s Saturday. August 5. The day I will die.





Chapter 3o





Cassandra


t’s here. Saturday. August 5.

I

Watching the clock on my phone turn to midnight,

I feel a part of me break inside.



Maybe I believed it would never actually come. That somehow, just by loving each other and creating something beautiful in this world, we’d cheat the past. We’d cheat destiny.

But now, we’ll cheat nothing.

I haven’t stepped a foot out of the house since Mom grounded

me yesterday. Not for lack of trying. I begged, groveled, cried, and slammed doors, but Mom stood her ground. I can’t even

sneak out when she’s asleep, because she’s tweaked the house

alarm system to go off if any doors or windows are opened.

So I stay at my laptop, frantically searching the Web for any

morsel of wisdom. Some hint of a message sent from some

distant cosmic portal that Lawrence will be okay. As the early

hours of the morning snake by, I vacillate between despair and

hope, confidence and despondency.

It isn’t until the sound of my opening door wakes me that I

realize I’d fallen asleep facedown on the desk, one arm flung

across my keyboard. The brightness of morning assails me. I sit

up with a start and gasp at the sharp cramp in my neck.

Mom’s standing in the doorway. “Good grief, Cass. Were you

up all night IMing with your boyfriend?” She sighs with frustration. “I should have thought to take your computer.”

“First of all, no one calls it ‘IMing’ anymore. But anyway, no.

Don’t worry. He doesn’t even have a computer.”