Page 114 of Midnight Enemy

“Baby,” Orson says. He glares at George then. “Look what you’ve done.”

“I haven’t done anything—this is your fault.”

“Guys!” Kingi yells. He blows out a long breath and gives George a pitying look. “Come on. I understand why you didn’t want her to know, but it’s pointless. Just tell her, for fuck’s sake.”

George looks at me, and his expression is filled with such pain that it physically hurts me.

“Scarlett,” he says. “Sweetheart…” He shakes his head, unable to speak, too overcome with emotion.

I give Orson a pleading glance.

“It was your father,” he says. “Who took the money. I’m so sorry.”

I blink. “What?”

George sinks back into his chair. Silence falls in the room.

Orson flicks back the sides of his jacket and slides his hands into his trouser pockets. “Your father was the one who siphoned off the funds. I’m guessing he was trying to find the money to pay for your mother’s treatment, but he wasn’t able to get enough in time.”

“After she died,” Kingi says, “he started to transfer it back into the accounts, disguising it as donations, but once I knew what to look for it was easy to find.”

“You’re wrong,” I say, trembling. “Dad wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t steal from the commune.”

Orson and Kingi don’t react, though. Kingi’s face creases with pity, and Orson just frowns. They truly believe it.

It can’t be true, though. Dad would never have done anything like that. The whole ethos of the commune is that everything is shared so nobody has to go without. He would never have stolen money.

And yet I would never have thought that George would have either…

I force myself to confront the truth. Mum was dying. The treatment that was most likely to cure her cost a little more than the missing amount. Dad had turned down Spencer’s generous offer. What if he took the money out of desperation? Oh God…

I stare at George. “Aren’t you angry that they’re saying this? Tell them that Dad wouldn’t do it!”

George sends me a look that’s heavy with sorrow.

“George was going to take the blame,” Orson says. “Even though it would almost certainly have meant going to prison.”

My jaw drops for the umpteenth time. “That’s why you were upset when the Elders agreed to the audit.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” George says miserably. He glares at Orson. “It was my choice. You had no right to tell her. Kingi said you loved her. He said you’d want to protect her.”

“I do,” Orson says, shocking me. “But not at the expense of an innocent man going to prison.” He looks at me then. “I thought you should know the truth.”

I’m still sobbing, and I’m finding it hard to catch my breath. My heart is racing, I feel dizzy, and I have an odd sensation in my hands, which spasm, the fingers curling toward the palm. I sway, and the room spins.

“Catch her,” someone says.

“Did she faint?”

“Jesus, is she okay?”

“Put this behind her.”

“She’s hyperventilating. That’s all.”

“Sit here, honey. You’re okay.” Orson’s voice wraps around me like a blanket. “Lower your head. That’s it. Now remember how you taught me to breathe properly? From the belly, not the chest. Here, breathe with me.” He takes my hand and puts it on his body, where his diaphragm would be.

I feel his belly rise and fall and attempt to breathe with him.

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