All of it.”
“He’s going to expect to hear from me,” I said.
“Gerald.
He texted last night.
If I go silent, he’ll know something is wrong.”
Paulson thought for a moment.
“Can you send him one short reply?
Something that keeps him calm and doesn’t reveal where you are?”
I typed: *Thank you, Gerald.
I’m with family.
I’ll be in touch soon.*
I showed Miriam before I sent it.
She read it and nodded.
“Family,” she said.
“That’s true now.”
I sent it.
Gerald replied within two minutes: *Of course.
Take all the time you need.
Frank would be so proud of you.*
My jaw tightened.
I put the phone face-down.
Paulson met us at a coffee shop three miles from Miriam’s house.
He was in his fifties, compact, with the kind of stillness that comes from years of listening more than talking.
