Tori thought she could leave four children with me while she flew to Japan, but she forgot one important detail: I had a flight of my own that afternoon, and I wasn't canceling it this time.

The ferry cut through the turquoise swells of the Strait of Gibraltar at thirty knots. Inside the air-conditioned cabin, tourists and commuters drank espresso and stared at their smartphones, completely oblivious to the blood seeping through Lind’s fingers or the international manhunt unraveling behind us.

I went to the ferry’s small convenience counter, bought a bottle of disinfectant, gauze pads, and a roll of adhesive tape, and returned to Lind.

"Sit up," I ordered.

He winced as I pulled his shirt away from the wound. The bullet had taken a strip of flesh along his lower ribs, deep enough to bleed heavily, but it hadn't fractured bone or punctured the lung. I poured the antiseptic directly onto the graze. Lind didn't make a sound; he merely closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath.

"You're tougher than Arthur was," Lind whispered through clenched teeth as I bound the gauze tightly around his torso.

"Arthur spent forty years behind a mahogany desk," I said, snapping the tape with my teeth. "I spent forty years running a farm, raising two children, and managing Arthur’s mistakes. You learn how to clean a cut."

I pulled out my satellite phone and linked it to the ferry’s satellite Wi-Fi network. The notification feed lit up like a Christmas tree.

A news bulletin from the Boston Globe flashed across the top of the browser: *Prominent New England Real Estate Mogul Roland Vance Named in Federal Racketeering Indictment; Multiple Properties Raided.*

Below it was a forwarded text message from Caleb, sent fifteen minutes earlier:

*Mom, please answer. They arrested Tori. They say she conspired to file fraudulent lien documents against the farm. Mom, the kids are with the state welfare workers. Please come home. I didn't know Roland was going to take it this far.*

I stared at the screen, feeling neither anger nor pity—only a clean, quiet detachment.

"What are you going to do?" Lind asked, watching my face.

"I’m going to make sure my grandchildren are safe," I replied, typing a single response back to my son.