I did know that. Home is where your family is, blah blah blah. My parents had been saying it since the day I was born.
“Did they find out about the fingerprint scanner?” I asked. “I mean, why else would they be here? And why are we blasting music if they were here?” My stomach was starting to flip and I looked at Angelo.
“They did see the scanner,” he said, “but no, love, that’s not why they were here.”
I thought about Roux, blissfully karate chopping fake enemies in a dojo somewhere uptown, and Jesse sitting outside in Connecticut with his mom, talking about something. Maybe even talking about me. I could feel the change coming, and in that moment I wished I could grab Jesse and Roux and not let go.
“The Collective discovered several discrepancies”—my dad said the word in a way that made me think he didn’t believe it—“in some cases that your mother and I did a long time ago. Way back before you were born.”
“The Dark Ages,” my mother clarified with a smile. “The prehistoric era.”
“What discrepancies?” I asked, in no mood to be humored and teased. “And stop treating me like a little kid. You can’t bring me into this and then pretend like it’s nothing.”
My parents looked at each other again and when they looked back at me, it was clear that all the soft-pedaling was over. “They’re saying that your mother and I stole some evidence from a case,” my dad said. “They’re accusing us of lying and they’re opening up an investigation.”
I stood there trying to process what everyone was saying. “But it’s not true!” I said. “Right? You would never do that! Mom?”
“Of course not,” she reassured me. “It’s false, it’s just a mistake. It’s a small mix-up that can be fixed.”
“Then why do you look so worried?”
And then it hit me. I knew why they were so worried, why we were blasting opera music on a Thursday afternoon, why my mom hadn’t stopped gripping my shoulder.
“It’s because of me,” I muttered. “It’s because of Colton Hooper.”
“No, it’s not—” my dad started to say, but I shook my head.
“You know it’s because of me!” I protested. “They’re mad because I proved that the Collective screwed up, that they were flawed, and now they’re pissed.”
Angelo hadn’t said a word yet.
“They want us out, don’t they?” I continued. “Is that it? They prove that you and Dad lied or whatever, and then they can exile us and no one’s the wiser.”
No one said anything for a long time, and then finally Angelo spoke up. “Not quite.”
I looked at him while my parents looked at me.
“You were not the only one whose life was threatened last year,” Angelo said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’ve been hearing rumors about a few people that have been … disbarred, so to speak, from the Collective.”
“For doing a bad job?”
“No. For refusing to do a bad job.”
I glanced over at my parents. My mom was biting her lower lip. “I—I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would … ? What do … ?”
“They’re only rumors,” Angelo said as my mom put her hand on my shoulder. “I’ve been contacted by a few people whom the Collective has recently accused of stealing evidence or forging the wrong documents. I thought it was best to investigate.”
“That’s why you’ve been gone for so long,” I said. “How many people?”
“A few,” he said.
“A few?” I repeated. “Like, two or three? Or more? Were they right?”
“We don’t know,” my dad said.
“You knew about this?” I asked, turning around to look at my parents. “You’ve known about this the whole time and didn’t tell me?”
“We didn’t want to worry you—” my dad started to say, but Angelo interrupted him.
“You know now,” he told me. “You’ll always get information when you need it. And they could just be disgruntled employees who were rightfully removed. We don’t know yet.”
“But it’s weird that the Collective is suddenly accusing Mom and Dad of stealing evidence, right?”
“It could be a coincidence or a filing error.”
“It’s not like they were threatening us,” my dad pointed out.
“So that’s why you were blasting opera music?” I countered. “Because you just really dig arias?”
“We wanted to talk privately,” my mom told me. “Just in case.”
“It’s a precaution,” my dad said. “That’s all.”
“And what if they’re right and the Collective’s wrong?” I asked. “Then what?”
No one said anything this time. They didn’t have to.
I whirled around and picked up a juice glass sitting on the counter, then threw it as hard as I could. The glass shattered against the brick wall and everyone, me included, jumped at the noise.
“Maggie!” My mom gasped, and she actually looked a little bit scared of me, which only made me more frightened.
“This is bullshit,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “And we can’t do anything about it, can we?”