As he grabbed a third box of cereal, he said, “My dad, he hides them everywhere. These stacks. I found one inside the living room couch the other day. He hides cash like alcoholics hide vodka bottles.” Davis brushed some cereal dust off the hundred-dollar bills, stacked them next to the sink, and then grabbed them. The entire stack fit in one hand. “A hundred thousand dollars,” he said, and offered it to me.

“No way, Davis. I can’t—”

“Aza, the cops found, like, two million dollars executing their warrant, but I bet they didn’t even get half of it. Everywhere I look, I find these stacks, okay? Not to sound out of touch, but for my dad, this is a goddamned rounding error. It’s a reward for not sharing the picture. I’ll have our lawyer call you. Simon Morris. He’s nice, just a little lawyery.”

“I’m not trying—”

“But I can’t know that,” he said. “Please, just—if you still call or text or whatever, I’ll know it’s not about the reward. And you will, too. That would be a nice thing to know—even if you don’t call.” He walked over to a closet, opened it, stuffed the money into a blue tote bag, and offered it to me.

He looked like a kid now—his watery brown eyes, the fear and fatigue in his face, like a kid waking up from a nightmare or something. I took the bag.

“I’ll call you,” I said.

“We’ll see.”

—

I left the cabin calmly, then sprinted through the golf course, skirting the pool complex, and ran up to the mansion. I ran upstairs and walked along a hallway until I could hear Daisy talking behind a closed door. I opened it. Daisy and Mychal were kissing in a large four-poster bed.

“Um,” I said.

“A bit of privacy, please?” Daisy asked.

I closed the door, muttering, “Well, but it isn’t your house.”

I didn’t know where to go then. I walked back downstairs. Noah was on the couch watching TV. As I walked over to him, I noticed he was wearing actual pajamas—Captain America ones—even though he was thirteen. On his lap, there was a bowl of what appeared to be dry Lucky Charms. He took a handful and shoved them into his mouth. “’Sup,” he said while chewing. His hair was greasy and matted to his forehead, and up close he looked pale, almost translucent.

“You doing okay, Noah?”

“Kickin’ ass and takin’ names,” he said. He swallowed, and then said, “So, did you find anything yet?”

“Huh?”

“About Dad,” he said. “Davis said you were after the reward. Did you find anything?”

“Not really.”

“Can I send you something? I took all the notes off Dad’s phone from iCloud. They might help you. Might be a clue or something. The last note, the one he wrote that night, was ‘the jogger’s mouth.’ That mean anything to you?”

“I don’t think so.” I gave him my number so he could text me the notes and told him I’d look into it.

“Thanks,” he said. His voice had gotten small. “Davis thinks we’re better off with him on the run. Says it’d be worse if he was in jail.”

“What do you think?”

He stared up at me for a moment, then said, “I want him to come home.”

I sat down on the couch next to him. “I’m sure he’ll show up.”

I felt him leaning over until his shoulder was against mine. I wasn’t wild about touching strangers, especially given that he didn’t seem to have showered in some time, but I said, “It’s all right to be scared, Noah.” And then he turned his face away from me and started sobbing. “You’re okay,” I told him, lying. “You’re okay. He’ll come home.”

“I can’t think straight,” he said, his little voice half strangled by the crying. “Ever since he left, I can’t think straight.” I knew how that felt—all my life, I’d been unable to think straight, unable to even finish having a thought because my thoughts came not in lines but in knotted loops curling in upon themselves, in sinking quicksand, in light-swallowing wormholes. “You’re okay,” I lied to him again. “You probably just need some rest.” I didn’t know what else to say. He was so small, and so alone.

“Will you let me know? If you find anything out about Dad, I mean.”

“Yeah, of course.”

After a while, he straightened up and wiped his face against his sleeve. I told him he should get some sleep. It was nearly midnight.

He put the bowl of Lucky Charms on the coffee table, stood up, and walked upstairs without saying good-bye.

I didn’t know where to go, and having the bag of money in my hand was freaking me out a little, so in the end I just left the house. I looked up at the sky as I ambled toward Harold, and thought about the stars in Cassiopeia, centuries of light-time from me and from one another.

I swung the bag in my hand as I walked. It weighed almost nothing.

TEN

I TEXTED DAISY the next morning while I was still in bed.

Big news call when you can.

She called immediately.

“Hey,” I said.

“I know he is a gigantic baby,” she responded, “but I actually think upon close examination he is hot. And in general, quite charming, and very sexually open and comfortable, although we didn’t do it or anything.”

“I’m thrilled for you, so last night—”

“And he really seemed to like me? Usually I feel like boys are a bit afraid of me, but he wasn’t. He holds you and you feel held, you know what I’m saying? Also he’s already called me this morning, which I found cute instead of worrisomely overeager. But please do not think I am becoming the best friend who falls in love and ditches her bitches. Wait, oh God, I just said I’m in love. We’ve been hooking up for under twenty-four hours and I’m dropping L-bombs. What is happening to me? Why is this boy I’ve known since eighth grade suddenly so amazing?”

“Because you read too much romantic fan fiction?”

“There is literally no such thing,” she answered. “How’s Davis?”

“That’s what I want to talk about. Can we meet somewhere? It’s better if I can show you.” I wanted to see her face when she saw the money.

“I already have a breakfast date, unfortunately.”

“I thought you weren’t ditching your bitches,” I said.

“And I’m not. My breakfast date is with Mr. Charles Cheese. Alas. Can it wait till Monday?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Okay, I get off work at six. Applebee’s. Might have to multitask, though, because I’m trying to finish a story—don’t take it personally okay he’s calling I have to go thanks love you bye.”

As I put down my phone, I noticed Mom standing in my doorway. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“Holy Helicopter Parenting, Mom.”

“How was your date with that boy?”

“Which boy? There are so many. I have a spreadsheet just to keep track of them.”

—

To kill time that morning, I went through Noah’s file of entries from his dad’s notes app. It was a long, seemingly random list—everything from book titles to quotes.

Over time, markets will always seek to become more free.

Experiential value.

Floor five Stairway one

Disgrace—Coetzee

It went on like that for pages, just little memos to himself that were inscrutable to anyone else. But the last four notes in the documents interested me:

Maldives Kosovo Cambodia

Never Tell Our Business to Strangers

Unless you leave a leg behind

The jogger’s mouth

It was impossible to know when those notes had been written, and whether they’d all been written at once, but they certainly seemed connected: A quick search told me that Kosovo, Cambodia, and the Maldives were all nations that had no extradition treaty with the United States, meaning that Pickett might be allowed to stay in them without having to face criminal charges at home. Never Tell Our Business to Strangers was a memoir by a woman whose father lived on the run from the law. The top search result for “Unless you leave a leg behind” was a news article called “How White-Collar Fugitives Survive on the Lam;” the quote in question referred to how difficult it is to fake your own death.