Page 58 of On the Beat

“I just want to make sure I don’t get any of my facts wrong. So how long did it take you to start your company after meeting this guy? And what exactly did your company do? Or rather, what does it do?” I quickly amend, not wanting to invoke his ire.

“It’s a cryptocurrency wallet app,” he replies.

I scribble that down, having not heard that one before. From most articles I’ve read, no one could really agree on what his company did. Maybe this answer will be better, since it’s from the literal source. “That sounds rather lucrative.”

“About three months in from when we started our working relationship, we began our company. The whole process was pretty fast since my partner was very skilled in the field. He told me he’d had a lot of experience in building startups before.”

I bet.

“And at any time, did you ever suspect that anything about the process was goingtoosmoothly or too quickly?” I ask, trying to keep my tone curious and not accusing.

“No, never.”

I imagine a man like River Black doesn’t take kindly to the suggestion that he’s been tricked. Especially not when he seems so satisfied with his business and his own success. “So, why do you think people are accusing you of these corrupt financial crimes?”

He is a man who thinks he’s seen it all when he’s only seen half a corner of his part of the town. “They see my success and they want to tear it down.”

Now he’s accusing the legal system of being haters? “Do you think it has anything to do with your brother?”

“My brother hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Then let’s just stick to this story for now.” My mind churns with possibilities as my stomach churns with sick remorse, already regretting this interview. I taste something acrid, warning me that the consequences of my decisions will come back to bite me at any moment. Yet this is a purely financial article, not personal. It has nothing to do with Ryder.Nothing. “So, you met this guy, and three months later, you started a cryptocurrency business together. Now, eighteen months later, you’re being accused of defrauding people and embezzling money from investors. What about the people who put their money into your cryptocurrency wallets? Were they defrauded?”

“We didn’t have any customers yet.”

“I see.” I scribble that down. “Thank you for your time, River. I’ll be in touch.”

As he says goodbye and hangs up, I down the rest of my coffee, hoping the milky, sugary taste of the caffeinated beverage will wash away the flavour of regret.

Chapter 28: Ryder Black

A week after my run-in with the paparazzi (surprisingly, there wasn’t a single phone call or text from George Hugh over it), I receive a package at Paulo’s house.

Poppy’s distinctive handwriting–with curlicues, flourishes, and written in pink Sharpie–greets me, standing out against the cream paper of the packaging. I stare at the package like it’s a ticking bomb, and I only realize I’ve been staring at for at least a solid minute when the delivery man clears his throat. “Are you going to sign for the parcel, sir?”

“Yes, of course.” I hurriedly scrawl my signature on the clipboard and take the box from him. It’s heavier than I expected, or maybe lighter–I’m not sure what I expected from my sister, but it’s certainly not a package.

She never texted or called to say she’d be sending me a gift. Unless this is some sort of glitter bomb that will leave sparkly confetti lodged in my face, hair, and mouth for the next month. That would be the kind of prank she’d plan. Something classically Poppy, to make you wince every time you try to comb glitter out of your hair.

Poppy has always been devious. I don’t know why I never thought she’d be capable of the betrayal she committed. Yet still, part of me looks down at the package like it’s a saving grace, something that will allow us to move on from the past like it never happened. Something that will let us pretend she never hurt me by exposing my secrets to the Internet. Something that will let me pretend that her words and actions didn’t hurt more than a bullet burrowing into my heart.

Taking it into the beach house, I dump it onto the entry table as I kick off my flip-flops. Distracting me from thoughts of my sister, my brother, and the dramatic, tangled web we’ve woven together, Eddie barrels down the stairs. “Is there something for me?”

“Nope, just mine.” I gingerly pick up the parcel and gesture with it, as though it will give him more answers than my heart wants to offer. “You want to help me open this?”

“What’s that?” Isla asks, nearly slipping on the hardwood in her fuzzy socks. I have no idea how she’s wearing socks in this heat, but she told me that her feet get cold from the air conditioning.

It’s hard to look at her, in the way that it’s hard to sneak a second peek at the sun after the first time it scalds your eyes. Since our kisses, she’s been… aloof. Not cold, not bitter, not harsh or angry. But she’s been keeping her distance.

I know we have every logical reason to stay apart. In L.A., I never would have given her a second glance. But we’re not in L.A. And at this rate, I’m not sure I ever want to go back there.

Clearing my throat, I glance at the package that Eddie is busily disassembling with scissors. “It’s from my sister.”

“Poppy?” she says, as if I have half a dozen sisters.

“The one and only.”

Eddie shears open the cardboard and I open the box. “Thanks, Eddie.”

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