The Last Invitation (66)
“Who sets the rules?” Retta’s smile reappeared.
“Isn’t that obvious?”
Retta sighed. “No, but your answer brings us back to the idea of danger.”
Her family’s safety meant nothing to Retta. Gabby didn’t have to guess. Retta was making that clear.
“We all have secrets. The things we did, decisions we made, that changed us. We push them down, bury them deep, cover them with other truths and greater needs. Hope no one knows.” Retta shrugged. “But someone always knows, and that’s not a bad thing. It guarantees balance.”
“Sort of an ‘if you do X, then Y happens’ thing.”
Retta nodded. “Well put.”
“Is it? That sounds like one big, horrifying game to me.” Like sending a note to a kid, knowing it would turn her life upside down and push her to an awful place. Retta was a mom. How did she put other kids in danger and still sleep at night?
“It’s a good thing we’re only discussing a hypothetical.” Retta winked and walked away.
The conversation proved one horrible truth to Gabby. Like Jessa, regardless of the potential fallout and collateral damage to others, Retta slept just fine.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Jessa
Three days later, Jessa sat in Retta’s conservatory. The glassed-in room overlooked the expansive backyard and a pool too pristine to use. Not a towel, pool toy, or human in sight.
Today wasn’t about the auction. This counted as day one of Jessa’s official training to join the group. She bumbled her way through most of her interactions with Retta, hoping to say and do the right thing. The facts she didn’t understand about the organization, who was in it, or exactly how the work got done, struck her as huge holes she needed to fill.
They’d already engaged in a few minutes of filler conversation. Done the whole tea-versus-coffee thing. The anxiety burning through Jessa signaled it was time to jump in. “Is the group publicly tied to the charity in any way?”
“No, not publicly. I always think of our private group as the foundation behind the Foundation. Two distinct organizations with very different priorities and values. One files paperwork and is subject to all sorts of disclosure laws. The other not beholden to any sort of formal rules or regulations.”
Not the kind of details Jessa had hoped for, so she tried again. “So none of the members attended last night?”
“A few did.” Retta crossed one leg over the other. Today’s pantsuit was an emerald green and fully professional, as if she’d just stepped off the bench and into a designer’s swanky dressing room. “But I wonder why that matters to you.”
“I’m inquisitive.” When Retta’s expression didn’t change Jessa knew that wasn’t the right answer. “I’d like to know who else is in the group. That’s a normal reaction, isn’t it?”
“You know what you need to know at this point in the process.”
She was off-balance and flailing, but she was starting to suspect that’s exactly what Retta wanted. Jessa felt the pull, like being reeled in until it was too late to shake loose. “How long is the membership process?”
“As long as it takes.”
Okay, then. A conversation where she poked around for answers and Retta threw a roadblock up with every answer didn’t exactly bring clarity. Jessa hoped a discussion of the cases Retta gave her to study might help. The fact scenarios were varied, some horrifying, dealing with children and abuse. One about a father who killed the man he thought kidnapped and murdered his daughter.
None of the fact patterns matched Baines Fielding’s suicide, but Retta had already stated the group wasn’t involved in that. Trying to reopen the discussion only invited Retta’s wrath.
“I read the sample cases you gave me.” Jessa didn’t have them because that’s not how this game worked.
She’d read the cases on a tablet Retta provided. One with limited access and a keystroke program that mapped what she looked at and when. The whole process had been monitored, according to Retta, and as soon as Jessa read a file it disappeared. She couldn’t go back and review anything a second time.
“The idea, like with law school, is to ask you a few questions and get an idea of how you process information. As your former professor, I have some idea, but you have legal and world experience now. It will be interesting to see how that maturity has shaped your views over the last fourteen years.” A folder balanced on Retta’s lap. She ran a hand over it but didn’t open it. “Let’s start with general concepts. How far would you go to keep a rapist off the street?”
Jessa wasn’t ready for the question. “How far?”
“Would you accept a jury’s finding? A judge’s finding?”
“Yours, I would.” That seemed like a safe answer.
Retta frowned. “Don’t pander.”
The pressure closed in on Jessa. The walls didn’t move, and the air continued to flow, but a tightness wrapped around her chest. A crushing suffocation that had her fighting for steady breath. The confidence of being picked, of being in contention, gave way to a familiar panicked, out-of-control sensation.
Jessa rubbed her hands together even as the you can do this mantra that had been flowing through her head began to fade. “What are the options?”