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“I’ve got a darkroom at the house up north. We’ll develop them there.”
“At the winery?”
“Yes, from back in the day.”
“Ready?” Ellis asked a moment later.
Nora nodded. “Are we all driving together?”
“Not driving,” Ellis said. “Flying. My father chartered a helicopter to get us the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER 51
Cedar Creek, Nevada Thursday, August 1, 2024
SLOAN COULD HAVE BEEN IN A DREAM, AND ACTUALLY CONSIDERED that she was, as she held Nora’s hand while they ran through the field to a waiting helicopter silhouetted by the still-glowing horizon, its rotors spinning and thud-thud-thudding vibrations through her chest. Ellis followed close behind and when she climbed onboard, she saw Tilly and Reid Margolis strapped into their seats.
“Welcome!” Reid yelled over the pounding of the helicopter blades. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I don’t allow anyone to treat members of my family so rudely. That includes the almighty American media.”
The copilot assisted Sloan and Nora into the belly of the helicopter and helped them strap into their seats.
“Here you go, ma’am.” The young man handed Sloan a pair of noise-canceling earphones. “It’s about a two-hour flight, you’ll need these.”
Sloan tried to smile as she took the headphones and snapped them over her ears. The thudding of the rotors immediately dulled. She looked at Nora, who squeezed Sloan’s hand and smiled. How this woman had become such a close friend in only a matter of days, Sloan could not explain. But she was damn happy for the friendship.
Ellis took the seat across from them while the copilot secured the door before climbing back into his seat in the cockpit. Through the headphones Sloan heard the pilot’s voice.
“Okay folks. Settle in for a two-hour flight. Weather is clear and skies are calm. Should be uneventful.”
Sloan looked out the window as the helicopter lifted off, the grass of the prairie flattening with the downward push from the rotors. Momentum pulled her back into her seat as the helicopter accelerated, heading northwest toward Oregon.
CHAPTER 52
Bend, Oregon Thursday, August 1, 2024
MARGOLIS MANOR WAS A SPRAWLING ESTATE THAT COVERED TWO thousand acres in Bend, Oregon. It was dark by the time they arrived, and the Margolis home was brilliantly lit from above. Nora pointed out landmarks as they approached—the main home, the guest cottage, the tennis courts, the winery, and the vineyard. When the helicopter landed in a clearing a hundred yards from the pool, Sloan got the impression that this was not the first time the family had arrived at the estate in such a fashion.
The pilot shut down the engine, the copilot opened the door, and they all spilled out. Sloan took Ellis’s hand as he helped her and Nora down the steps before turning his attention to his mother, who took the stairs gingerly and relied on her son’s assistance. Two men appeared and spoke briefly with Reid before pulling luggage from the compartment. Reid Margolis led them all across the lawn, past the pool and patio, and through the back door of the home. Sloan walked into the kitchen and realized how magnificent the place was—from concrete countertops to cherry-wood cabinets and twenty-foot ceilings, the home was gorgeous.
“Welcome to Margolis Manor,” Reid said with a smile.
“Thank you,” Sloan said. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”
“We apologize for whisking you away like that,” Tilly said. “We just couldn’t believe the number of news vans parked outside the gates of our home. We knew things would only get worse, and we’re not prepared to speak with the media just yet.”
“I’m just stunned that there’s so much interest,” Sloan said.
“You shouldn’t be,” Reid said. “When you all went missing that summer, it was the biggest story in America. You’re learning about today it by paging through recorded history. We lived it. The press was incessant back then, and remained that way for years. It’s no surprise your return has caused such an uproar, and we’re not about to walk blindly into the media trap we fell for decades ago. It was, excuse me, a goddamn mess. Accusations, conspiracy theories, rumors, and flat-out lies. We’re not going to allow that same thing to happen again. We’re going to control the narrative this time around, and the best way to do that is to address the media on our terms. We’ve bought a few days by coming here, and we’ll take the weekend to figure out the best approach.”
It was not hard, Sloan thought, to see that Reid Margolis was the patriarch of the family—the one who called the shots and made the decisions.
“I’m really sorry for any problems this has caused,” Sloan said.
“Oh, stop it,” Tilly said, coming over and taking Sloan’s forearm in her soft hands. “This is not your fault, and we’d have it no other way.”
“I’m all for taking a minute to figure out our options,” Ellis said. “But we’re going to have to speak with the press at some point. Mostly they’ll want to hear from Sloan, but all of us will have to make statements. We should get our talking points laid out so we’re all on the same page.”
“For Christ’s sake, Ellis,” Reid said. “This is not trial prep. We’ll get on the same page tomorrow after I make some calls to the networks and inquire about interviews.”
