“It’s time, Miss Snow,” Benetto says, then everything happens too fast. Javier’s arms are gone, Bailey steps between us and they all walk away. I follow mindlessly in their wake. At the double doors, they pause once and Javier’s eyes meet mine.

“Love you,” I say, giving my voice the full strength of the words. The love Javier has given me, and I him.

“Always.”

The doors close on him, as his face loses life.

Elisa, remember we change in death…two metal tables, side by side…white sheets…two discolored hands in rigor mortis… Are you sure, Elisa?… No, not anymore. The hands are nothing like them. I walk backward…the doors close in front of me.

Reagan’s arms wrap around me tightly. Somehow, we’re in the parking lot, in her car.

“Who could do this?” she says over and over again. “Could it have been Feign himself? You said he’s being investigated.”

I shake my head, staring at nothing. “What would he stand to gain now in the end?”

“I don’t know—maybe he panicked. Who else would do this?”

I try to consider her theory but my brain starts connecting dots I don’t want connected. Painting supplies still at Aiden’s home, Aiden’s demand that I turn Javier in, his promise to destroy anything that might hurt me, the tipster knowing Javier’s location and schedule, no links to the DOJ. I hate the suspicions my mind is forming so I dial from Reagan’s phone to dispel them.

Aiden’s phone rings for a long time, compared to the one ring it usually holds for me. As I am about to hang up and call again, he answers.

“Elisa.” His voice is quiet.

“I know you know he was caught and we’ll deal with that later. Right now I need to hear you had nothing to do with it.”

He doesn’t answer. I listen for sound but there is nothing. Empty as I am, I feel like a pipeline. Free for the flowing of any sewage-like emotion. First, fear.

He’s still silent.

“Did you turn him in?” My voice drops to terrified whisper.

“Yes.” His voice is low but even.

“No! No, you’re lying. Tell me you’re lying.”

He doesn’t speak.

“I don’t believe you.” With no reason, I cling to instinct. But as I say the words, I remember his hideous threat to Javier if something were ever to endanger me.

“You wouldn’t do this. You would never hurt me this way.” Every cell—and there aren’t many left—rejects the idea.

“I’ve already done it.” His voice is resigned. The asphalt of the parking lot morphs into black cloth. Black mourning dress, black lace, then darkness.

I fight, reason and plead with him but his answer never changes. Pain comparable only to a fatal accident fills the emptiness. I wait for thought to find me. It forms in scraps.

“Why did you do it? Did you want me to leave you so badly that it didn’t matter how many paid for it? Is this some sick way of saving me from yourself? Of making my dreams come true at the expense of others?”

“Does it matter why?”

The pain becomes bewildering, throbbing until I fade. Because he is right. Knowing why wouldn’t help if, in the end, he still did it. The price was too high.

“I guess not. Nothing justifies this. Not even love.”

“Maybe not. But now you don’t have to go to jail to save him. And his fate is not in your hands. You can finally live your American dream.” His even tone fills my ears long after the line goes dead.

Roses…two white caskets…hundreds of people…look at her, she’s not blinking…poor child…a tombstone engraved, Amor Vincit Omnia…love conquers all.

The best lie ever told.

Time passes in the courthouse parking lot. How do I fix this? How do I make it right? A faint echo stirs inside. A muddled image of myself putting one foot in front of another to leave the grave site, hours after the funeral. Keep going, I remember hearing but I don’t know who spoke. I was all alone. Keep going, that same voice echoes now. It does not sound like life. Just a ghostly whisper to remind me of other lives left after Javier and me.

I ask Reagan to drive back to Portland. She steps on the gas as for a NASCAR audition.

We park the MINI in a nonparking spot and sprint into Bob’s office. He waits with my papers ready. When he sees me, he freezes. I tell him everything—even Javier’s name, clutching Reagan’s hand, attorney-client privilege be damned.

Bob blinks, gapes and shakes his head. “This couldn’t have been Mr. Hale. Why would he go through the trouble of finding a witness if he was planning this?”

But I figured out some things in the car. “What if this witness doesn’t really exist? Odd, isn’t it, that he appears right as Javier is caught?”

“The witness exists. I checked with the DOJ.”

“But what if Aiden himself is the witness?”

Bob’s eyes widen.

“Yeah,” Reagan whispers. “It makes sense. Maybe he killed three birds with one stone. If Javier got caught, there would no longer be a need to protect him. Isa wouldn’t have to choose between helping herself or her family. And with Aiden testifying, the DOJ would get the truth. They wouldn’t need to talk to Isa. She’d never have to lie for Javier or even tell them about her modeling work. Aiden was trying to save her!”

Every word sounds like Aiden. Except none of it makes a difference.

“He still destroyed my family, Reg.” I choke back a heaving sob.

Bob shakes his head. “I don’t believe it. It would have hurt you too much. Why would he want you to hate him?”

I swallow because Bob doesn’t know the truth. Nor does Reagan. Aiden had every reason to want me to hate him. Every reason to want me to leave him.

But I can’t tell them that.

“How can I help Javier, Bob? Please!”

“Elisa, I can’t represent him because you’re my client and that’s a conflict of interest. But Benetto is top-notch. He doesn’t take a lot of pro bono cases so something must have moved him.”

“What are his chances? The truth please.”

Bob takes my hand. “Not great, my dear. The argument for undue hardship on the family is common but it rarely wins. There are compelling circumstances here, but his family needs to be prepared.”

My dad’s watch ticks 3:45 p.m. “Elisa, you should sign so we can send it off before FedEx gets here,” Bob says gently.

I look at the papers in front of me. My American dream. But what makes a dream, a dream? For me, it was a new life free of ghosts. I won’t have that here anymore. Javier and Aiden will haunt me. I can’t see Javier. And in the off chance that he is allowed to stay, he wouldn’t fill Aiden’s void or undo his betrayal. If I will be haunted anyway, there is only one place for me. It has waited—they have waited—for me to face it for four years.

And I can save six lives. Without Javier, four girls may become wards of the state with an aging mother, an ill father and no brother. Even with Javier, they’re still in peril with Antonio paralyzed and no income from Feign. It’s fitting that my first family—Dad’s invention—should save my second.

“I’m sorry, Bob. I cannot sign. Please put the million dollars in trust for Maria and Antonio Solis, with Javier, Isabel, Isadora, Daniela and Anamelia Solis as beneficiaries if Maria and Antonio pass away. Javier Solis is the administrator, effective immediately.”

Reagan starts sobbing. “Isa, no! Bob, tell her! Tell her she can’t do this!”

A tear leaves Bob’s eye. “Legally, she can. But Elisa, you’re destroying your dream.”

“One dream above seven is too high a price.”

He watches me for a long time. “May I give you some advice?”

I nod.

“It’s wise to make the parents, not the girls, the beneficiaries because the hardship must be to the U.S. citizens for Javier to win. If the girls have the money, he has no prayer. It’s also smart to make Javier the administrator because he has an extra duty that would require him to stay here. I suspect that’s why you suggested it. But it’s not wise to release the funds now.”