Fortune's Deadly Descent Read Online Free PDF Page A

barely a wisp of a suspicion, but all at once, I know it’s true, and so does Benicio—again his face betrays him. Only Oliver appears confused.
    I stop Isak before he has a chance to speak.
    “Excuse me,” I say, “but fuck you, Isak.”
    “
Mom
,” Oliver says.
    “Please,” Isak says. “Please sit down so we can discuss this.”
    Benicio is silent.
    “There are certain aspects to this case, certain factors that may have influenced…” Isak goes on.
    I glare at Benicio and know instinctively that these “factors” are what they were discussing behind my back this morning.
    “Benicio told me about the novel you’re writing,” Isak says.
    Heat pools in my stomach.
    “What novel?” Oliver asks.
    I glare at Benicio.
    “Mom. What’s he talking about?”
    “Celia,” Benicio says, his voice soft and familiar again, bringing a split second of relief to my gut. “Look. He asked me about the days leading up to the trip. What you were doing. What
I
was doing.”
    “No one’s accusing you of anything,” Isak says. “I only want you to tell me who could’ve known you were writing such a book. Did you consult anyone?”
    “
What
novel?” Oliver insists, standing.
    I reach for his hand and cover my eyes with my other arm. I tell myself not to cry and after a moment I know I won’t. But when I open them, I see Benny’s red sneakers by the door—as shocking as a pool of blood—and have to catch myself on Oliver’s shoulder. He eases me back down to the sofa.
    “I’m writing a story based loosely on what happened to you and me,” I say then. “But I made up the boy, he’s
imaginary
. It’s what I
do
, Oliver.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see a twitch in Benicio’s mouth. “Don’t you dare look at me like that, Benicio.” I’m now up on my feet again.
    “I’m not looking at you like anything,” he says.
    “I told no one about the novel but you,” I say.
    Isak says, “Not your agent?”
    “Why are you
asking
me this? Do you actually think someone learned I was writing a novel about a missing child then stole my son? Life imitating art? That’s crazy.”
    “It’s not always clear what goes on in the minds of others.”
    “Why don’t you just come out and say you think I’m involved.”
    “Celia,” Benicio says. “Back off. We’re all upset. Isak just wants to—”
    “Then why hasn’t he asked us the
right
questions, about your sister? Why hasn’t he asked you what you’ve told her?”
    Benicio cuts his eyes at me.
    “For the first time in seven years Isabel hasn’t called on the morning of Benny’s birthday,” I say. “Now why is that, Benicio? Did you tell her he’s not here? Why else would she not call?”
    “I have no idea,” Benicio says, straight-faced. “I haven’t talked to her.”
    “You’re
lying
,” I say, suddenly sure this is true. I turn to Isak. “He’s lying about something,” I say. “Go ahead, ask him about his
sister
.”
    “My sister’s in prison. She had nothing to do with this!”
    Isak puts his hand up like a stop sign. “Yes, this has been checked,” he says. “We’ve confirmed that she hasn’t been released.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Has anyone kept track of who she communicates with and how?”
    Isak doesn’t answer.
    In the silence that follows, I’m sure what I have to do. I already see the linden trees and arched stone windows, big enough for a person to crouch inside, the Dutch bikes with their worn wicker baskets, the ornate iron light fixtures looping above doorways, lit in the night fog where a child snatcher is on the loose. I feel my hands squeezing into icy fists.
    Someone speaks but I’m no longer listening. I know exactly which clothes to pack, which shoes are best for walking on uneven cobbles. I’ll bring my old Thermos and fill it with water to stay hydrated in the heat. Sunglasses. A straw hat. Remember to wear a watch. Take notes. Ride that goddamn train as many times as it takes to figure