“See, I think he’s more involved than that,” Sara said. “Elliott has way too much information to just be showing up at the reading of the will.”

“You think he took part in the murder?”

“That’s the only way to explain how he knew about the wine cellar,” Sara pointed out. “He and Rafferty could’ve plotted Arnold’s death together. Rafferty would get the money; Elliott would get revenge. But when Kozlow got arrested and the plan fell apart, Elliott realized that he had even more to gain than the resolution of his I-hate-Daddy complex. At that point, he switched sides, turned on Rafferty, and pushed me to win.” As the logic of her own argument registered, Sara slumped back in disgust. “Which means Elliott plotted the death of his own father.”

“I know it’s hard to fathom, but it happens all the time,” Conrad said.

“But it’s his father,” Sara said, disgusted. “How do you kill your own parent?”

“By hiring Tony Kozlow to give him an overdose of insulin.”

“There’s only one problem,” Guff said. “If Elliott’s involved with the death, isn’t he also covered by the slayer statute?”

“Of course,” Sara said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not a greedy little scumbag. Besides, the only way to prove Elliott was involved with Arnold’s death is if Rafferty rats him out. And if he does that, Rafferty will be admitting his own involvement.”

“Which he’ll never do, because if he does, he’ll never see a dime of Arnold’s money,” Conrad said.

“Exactly,” Sara added.

“You think?” Guff asked skeptically. “It seems a little far-fetched to me.”

“I disagree,” Sara said. “You’d be surprised what people will do when their family’s involved.”

“Or what they won’t do,” Conrad said. “Like keep their mouths shut.”

“But a bizarro Electra complex? What’s the likelihood of-”

“Either way, it doesn’t matter,” Sara interrupted. “Regardless of what you believe, Elliott’s clearly the man we’re looking for.”

“So what do we do now?” Guff asked.

“That’s easy,” Sara said. “Have you ever heard of a prisoners’ dilemma?”

At nine o’clock that evening, Sara, Conrad, and Guff packed up their belongings. “You really think it’ll work?” Guff asked as he put on his jacket.

“It can’t miss,” Sara said, stuffing two legal pads into her briefcase.

“Of course it can miss,” Conrad said. “If you tell Jared, and Jared tells Victor…”

“Don’t start with that.”

“Then don’t tell him. The plan only works if everything’s kept quiet. That means no one should know about it – especially your husband.”

“Why’re you so convinced that Jared’s involved with Victor? Why would he possibly do that to me?”

“I told you before, maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do. What if he and Victor are running this case-burying business together? Assuming Victor does it for money, he still needs some good way to find the richest defendants – and as an up-and-comer in a big-name law firm, Jared’s the perfect scout. That’s why he doesn’t have any clients; they’re all off the books.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Is it? Are you sure? Think about it, Sara. Think carefully. People have lapses of strength all the time. All he needs is the tiniest push: He’s not satisfied at work; he’s sick of living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment; he needs the money; he’s having trouble making partner-”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Sara said as she struggled to stuff a file folder in her briefcase. Realizing it wouldn’t fit, she added, “Dammit, what the hell is wrong with this thing?”

“Take it easy,” Guff said as he helped her with the folder.

“Sara, if you tell Jared, and he’s on the other side, this thing’ll blow up in our faces. We’ll be sitting there thinking it’s all going to work out, and then, out of nowhere, BOOOM!” Sara jumped at Conrad’s sound effect. “Next thing you know, we’re finished.” Conrad let the silence of the room drive home his point.

“But if Jared doesn’t know-”

“He’ll be fine, Sara. It’s not like I’m asking a lot. I don’t need you to lie to him; I just want you to keep it quiet. Otherwise, we risk watching all our hard work slip away.”

Sara turned to Guff. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I see Conrad’s point, but part of me keeps thinking that once you doubt Jared, there’s no going back.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” Conrad said. “It’s just one little secret – nothing more. Now what do you say?”

“I’m not sure,” Sara said. “Let me see how tonight goes.”

A half hour after she arrived at home, Sara was sitting in front of the computer, staring at a blank screen. When she had first walked in, she had expected to find her husband cooking in the kitchen or typing in the bedroom. But as she made her way to the back of the apartment, she was surprised to find neither. Determined to take advantage of Jared’s absence, she’d quickly exchanged her business suit for sweatpants and a T-shirt, and pulled a chair up to the computer. Now was the time to decide, she thought. Before he gets home.

Carefully weighing each of the arguments in her head, she tried her best to reach a solution. Deep down, she wanted to believe him. It was the only choice. But the longer she sat alone in the silent apartment, and the longer she looked down at her watch, wondering where Jared was, the more she started to doubt him. And the more she started to doubt him, the more she saw the strength of Conrad’s argument. She didn’t have to lie to Jared – she just had to keep quiet.

Sensing the arrival of rationalization, Sara wondered what Pop would do in the same situation. He’d tell the truth, she thought. What about Jared’s parents? They’d lie. What about her own parents? What would they do? Sara walked over to the row of pictures on her dresser, picked out the photo of her parents, and sat down on her bed. It was an old picture, taken on the day Sara got accepted to Hunter College. Her father was so proud that when they went out to a small nearby restaurant to celebrate, he brought the acceptance letter and showed it to the waiter. Then he took a picture of Sara with the letter. And his wife with the letter. And even the waiter with the letter. Finally, Sara grabbed the camera and said, “How about we get some people in the next one?” Within an instant, Sara’s father had wrapped his arm around his wife and placed his hand so confidently on her shoulder. On the count of three, Sara snapped the picture.

Over a dozen years later, Sara loved the picture not because it was a great one, and not because it made her parents look beautiful. She loved it because every time she looked at it, she remembered that day – the acceptance letter, the pride, the waiter, the food, and most important, the people there.

The click of the front door locks jarred Sara from her memory. Jared was finally home. Brushing her thumb across the glass that covered her parents’ image, she knew it was time to move past the lessons of death and to pay attention to the ones about life.

When Jared burst into the room, she could tell that he had already prepared his excuse. Racing to the computer, he was ready to type out why he was late, and where he’d been, and why she had to believe him about Victor. But before he even passed the bed, Sara stepped in front of him. Jared was biting at his bottom lip. He looked anxious, almost nervous. It would definitely be easy to keep the secret, she thought. Just don’t say a word. She sat down at the computer, unclenched her fists, and fought her hesitation. Don’t look back, she told herself. Only forward. And as her fingers danced across the keyboard, Sara Tate took her leap of faith. Over her shoulder, Jared read the words, “Here’s the plan…”

Sitting on a discarded milk crate in the basement, he stared intensely at the monitor. It was propped up on two other crates, and it bathed the dark room in the artificial glow of blue light. When he saw the first few words flicker across the screen, he smiled at his own ingenuity. It hadn’t been difficult to put in the splitter, but it did take some time to find the exact location of the gas furnace’s vent pipe. Once he had that, though, he just dropped a plumb line from the hole in their wall down to the basement. That’s what it took to get the wire down there: a washer on a string. All he’d had to do was make sure no one was home, which, for him, was as easy as finding out about their meeting in Brooklyn. He just had to know where to look. And who to speak to. Slowly, the screen was filled with Sara’s plan. And as he read every word, Elliott nodded to himself. There was nothing to worry about. Sara, Rafferty, all of them – they’d never know what hit them.