Three days of quiet.
I didn't know what to do with it.
The hotel room was fine. Clean sheets. Room service. A window that looked out over a street where nothing happened.
Normal things.
I kept waiting for my phone to go off.
It didn't.
On the third morning I sat at the small desk with a coffee and opened my laptop for the first time since the island.
My inbox was a disaster.
Four hundred and twelve unread emails.
Most of them junk.
Some of them not.
A journalist from a Boston paper wanting a comment on the Hayes arrests.
Two from law firms offering representation.
One from a woman named Dana Reeves.
Subject line: I heard you might be able to help.
I almost skipped it.
I didn't.
She'd written three paragraphs. Careful ones. Like she'd rewritten them several times before sen
