Page 86 of Mirror Image
Rivera exhales slowly. “Identity theft can be a felony . . . if she used the identity for financial gain over five thousand dollars.”
“The hospital bill alone”—Doug jabs a finger toward Sam—“is ten times that!”
“Actually,” Kellogg interrupts loudly, “the hospital is comping the bill. So there’s no monetary loss.”
Crane finally steps forward, calm and collected, a lawyer in full command of his clients’ meltdown.
“Mr. and Mrs. Langston,” he says softly, “this is no longer productive. It’s time to go home.”
“No!” Doug protests.
Crane leans in, murmurs something only the two of them hear. Whatever it is, it stops Doug cold.
Terry chokes back a sob. Her eyes never leave Sam’s face.
Rivera straightens. “You’re free to go. I recommend the side exit—reporters are thick as vultures outside.”
Crane nods, then turns to Sam—who is slumped forward, blond hair curtaining her face.
“Ms. Kinski,” he says, “you’re in possession of documents removed from the Langston safe. You will return those—along with any copies—and sign a nondisclosure agreement. There will be no interviews, no media deals, no publication of this ordeal. In return, you may keep the remainder of the trust distribution you already received.”
Sam lifts her head.
Just barely.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Okay.”
Crane gives a crisp nod, escorts Doug and Terry out, Joyce trailing behind him.
When they’re gone, the silence is thick enough to breathe.
Sam whispers, broken, “I’m sorry I lied.”
“This wasn’t your fault,” I tell her. “You didn’t kill Mary. You saw a chance at a better life. A family. But you can still start over.”
She nods, exhausted. “Can I lie down now?”
I wheel her upstairs myself, help her into bed, tuck the blanket around her bruised legs.
“You hungry?” I ask. “Want a burger from my cousin’s café? Best secret sauce in Miami.”
She touches my arm gently, eyes full of something small and raw.
“Thank you. For not hating me.”
I smile softly. “You can call or text me anytime. Day or night. I mean that.”
Her eyes droop. “Maybe . . . later . . . yeah. Fries too . . .”
Sleep steals her before she finishes the sentence.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mary
Two and a half years ago
There are some things you never come back from.
