An hour ago, we had no clue what to do after hearing about the manhunt. So I did the only thing I could think of. I called Grandpa Kendrick. And here we were, on a private jet, sipping champagne. Grandpa Kendrick insisted on having us picked up when he learned about our predicament.
He said he will meet us at his estate in New York, where we would be his guests while he made arrangements for us to leave the country. It was a quick, no questions asked, call. I wondered if Jenny had called ahead to prepare him.
"So Europe," I said, bringing up the topic of not just going on the run, but leaving the country.
Scott set his glass down, turned to me and took my hands in his.
"I need to be perfectly clear about something," he said, looking far too serious for my liking.
I knew last night mea
