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"You're lying, but I'll allow it." She takes my hand—I've been folding and refolding the same square of gauze without noticing—and squeezes it still. "Help me get Mrs. Kaminski cleaned up. Her granddaughter's coming to see her at four."

We wash her, and I comb her hair back off her face while Daphne folds the sheet down square across her chest and settles her hands over it. Small things. Nothing that needs a doctor. But it's half an hour of just the two of us and a dead woman who had a nicer death than most, and it's calmed my nervous system enough for me to function.

I don't tell Daphne that I already know what I'm going to do next. She'd try to stop me and she'd be right to, but I don't want to be talked out of it.

I've made up my mind.

When I leave Daphne, it’s past the end of my shift. I grab my things and head out. Today, I don’t have my car.

Denis is waiting at the far end of the car park outside outpatients. It’s a place where everyone’s minding their business and their problems. Nobody’s going to pay him any mind. He's leaning against the car with his coat done up to his throat, and the moment he sees me he looks me over from head to foot, checking that I'm all right. He’s always been like a mother hen with me. Rémy's in the passenger seat with the window down. He salutes me with his hand, which from him is practically a hug.

"You look terrible," Denis says, discarding French for English. Oh, so it’s bad like that.

"I'm getting divorced. It's meant to be slimming."

He doesn't laugh, and for a moment he seems thrown. Oh shit, he didn't know. Of course not, dammit. I haven't told anyone in the family, especially my parents. That's exactly why I called Denis and not anyone else. He won't run to Papa. He’s more loyal to me.

"You said a lot on the phone," he says, "but nothing about what’s on your mind. So tell me straight. What are you planning, and how much trouble is it going to bring down on you?"

The two men are older than me but only by about a decade, or perhaps a bit more, and have been around since I was a teenager. Denis taught me how to ride a bike. Rémy sat outside the emergency room the night I broke my wrist falling off it. They were both there, quietly furious, the first time a boy made me cry. They know to appear when I need them and stay hidden when I don't. Basically, they're the two my father always trusted to keep an eye on me, especially when I tried going somewhere I shouldn't be. They never once ran to him when I broke the rules. Out of everyone tied to my family, they're the ones who are tried and tested when it comes to trust.

"You know what he did to get me," I say. "Before we were officially married. What he did to my brother, and to Charles. I’ve told you this on the phone."

Denis inhales sharply and starts cracking his knuckles. What an awful habit. Rémy stops looking out of the window.

"We heard things," Denis says carefully. "We didn't know for certain, until you mentioned it."

"Now you know. Laszlo arranged all of it and it wasn't a coincidence that Julien was there that night. He set it all up to get back at my father. Charles is dead because of a grudge between two old men, and I was his leverage." I keep my voice bland because I don't want to cry in front of them, and I'm sick of crying already.

I’m so grateful that they’re not making a big fuss about this, although I have no doubt they’re thinking up the most efficient ways for skinning Laszlo alive. "It’s not just him.” I want to make this clear so they don’t go blaming one side. Because yes, as much as I said I wouldn’t, I’m still protecting the bastard a little. “My father handed me over knowing exactly what he was doing when he agreed to this marriage. The narrative suited him and I don't want to know that I did it for the family. My family is the main reason this happened."

Rémy leans forward from the back seat. "You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

Denis doesn't say anything, but he’s not dismissing me either. "Tell me what you want?" he finally asks, and I smile.

There’s a place Laszlo loves more than he has ever loved anything that breathes, and I'm one of the only people alive who's been inside it. His private area in the mortuary, where he actually works. He took me down there to show me—it was as if he was letting me see the inside of his own soul. That's the thing I want to break. I don't care about the money or his properties. He has plenty of it and I can take care of myself like I’ve always done.

"It'll be empty," I say before Denis can ask. "I'll check it myself first. He won’t be there. I'm still a doctor, Denis. I'm not going to hurt anyone. I just want to take the one thing he loves and leave him with nothing, the way he left me."

For a moment, neither of them says anything. Then I catch Rémy shaking his head, sighing.

"He'll know it was you," Denis says.

"Good. I want him to know."

"He keeps men in that building, Manon."

"I will make sure that the whole place is empty. I don't want anyone to get hurt. I don’t want Dolores to get hurt. Anyway, she’s been getting a lot of days off recently. Laszlo wants to give her an easy retirement. He says he’ll be fine doing the cooking himself."

Denis knows he’s not going to win this argument. He has never once in my life been able to tell me no, and both of us know it. He breathes out slowly through his nose and rubs a hand over his jaw, glancing at Rémy, who gives a shrug.

"Get in the car," Denis says. "I'm not talking about this here."

* * *

There's one thing I have to do first, and I've been putting it off since this whole shitstorm started.