“Because I want my life back too,” she said.

“And because the man in that medical facility is the one who belongs here, not Julian.”

I stared at her. “You know where Alexander is?”

“He’s at the Beacon Hill recovery center,” she said.

“It’s a private estate disguised as a clinic, upstate near the border.”

“My father keeps him there under a false name.”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes,” she said. “But he is weak. They keep him sedated so he won’t try to escape.”

She looked at her watch.

“I have to go. My father’s driver is waiting at the main entrance.”

“How do I use this?” I asked, holding up the drive.

“The server address is written on the back of the casing in tiny print,” she said.

“You need a secure network. Don’t use public Wi-Fi.”

She turned and walked quickly out of the conservatory.

Her silver gown rustled against the green ferns as she disappeared through the glass doors.

I stood alone in the humid air of the greenhouse.

The smell of damp soil and wet stone was heavy.