Chapter 6
I drove six hours to Chicago.
Dad came with me. He didn't say much on the drive. He just held the coffee and watched the road, like he was afraid if he spoke, I'd change my mind about letting him come.
We found Fallon at the Greyhound station, huddled in a plastic chair, wearing the same clothes she'd had on at the boatyard. She looked smaller. Fragile. Her eyes were red.
When she saw me, she broke down.
I caught her as she fell into my arms. She sobbed into my shoulder, her whole body shaking. Dad stood back, his hand over his mouth, crying quietly.
We got her into the car. We drove to a diner. She ate like she hadn't seen food in days.
"Tell me," I said, gently.
She wiped her mouth with a napkin. Her hands were trembling.
"Bryce — he's not who I thought he was. At first, he was wonderful. He took me places. He listened to me. He said he loved me. But then — he started talking about the boatyard. About how much the land was worth. He said if we could get it, we'd be set for life."
She paused. Swallowed.
"Mom said you'd never sell. That you were stubborn. That Grandpa would never sign. So Bryce came up with the plan. The environmental thing. He said if your business was ruined, Grandpa would have to sell. Mom called Paige. They paid her. I knew, Merit. I knew what they were going to do. And I didn't stop it."
She looked at me. Her eyes were full of tears.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was weak. I wanted Bryce to love me. I wanted Mom to finally be proud of me. And I let them hurt you."
I sat with that for a long moment.
This was my sister. The girl who'd ruined my science fair. Who'd stolen my birthday. Who'd stood by while my business was poisoned.
But she was also the girl who'd climbed into my bed after nightmares. Who used to make me drawings. Who my mother had manipulated her entire life.
"Fallon," I said. "I'm not going to say it's okay. Because it's not. You hurt me. You hurt Grandpa. You hurt a lot of people. But — you're my sister. And I'm not going to leave you with Bryce. Or with Mom. You're coming home with us."
She cried harder.
"But there's a price," I said. "You have to tell the police everything. You have to testify. You have to help us put Bryce and Mom away. Can you do that?"
She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Yes. Yes, I'll tell them everything."
"Bryce — where is he now?"
"I don't know. We were in a motel outside Chicago. He got a call yesterday. He was angry. He said the police were closing in. He packed a bag. He told me to stay put. When he left, I ran. I came to the bus station."
Detective Hart met us at the state line. Fallon gave her statement. Everything. The plan. The money. The conversations. Bryce's threats.
And something else.
"Bryce has a plane," Fallon said. "A friend of his owns a small airfield near Ludington. He said if things went wrong, he'd fly out. He was going to — he said he was going to disappear. To the Caribbean. He has money there."
Hart put out an alert. The airfield. The plane. Bryce Coleman's description.
They caught him that night, trying to board a single-engine Cessna with a duffel bag full of cash.
Sybil was with him.
They were arrested on the tarmac. My mother, in handcuffs, trying to board a plane to another country.
I got the call from Detective Hart at two in the morning.
"We got them," she said. "Both of them. Merit, it's over."
I sat on the edge of my bed, the phone in my hand, and I cried. Not sad tears. Not happy tears. Just — release. Twenty-five years of weight, lifting.
Dad was asleep in the guest room. Fallon was on the couch, finally sleeping peacefully. Grandpa was in his room, snoring softly.
May you like
I walked out onto the porch. The lake was silver in the moonlight. The boatyard was quiet.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I could breathe.
