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“That’s probably a safe place to keep them.”

“I hear he’s a washed-up alcoholic who holds contests to capitalize on the hopes and dreams of aspiring writers.”

A teenage Kate might have hit him with her racquet. But she’d come to understand how he operated, saying outrageous things that he may or may not believe just to make sure she had considered the worst-case scenario.

“Let’s not go down this road.”

“What road? I’m saying what you need to hear.”

“Thatroad. WhatIneed to hear. It’s one thing to tell an eleven-year-old girl that she has to keep her commitment and stay the full four weeks at Manassas theater camp, even if Mom says she can come home anytime she wants. That’s tough love. But being nasty to me because you think you know better is not tough love. That’s not any kind of love.”

“I’m not making things up.”

“Irving is abrasive. He’s made enemies. You’re repeating rumors started by people who don’t like him.”

“Sometimes rumors are true. How do you know he isn’t just a charlatan who picks winners who have money and tells them he can get their play produced if they pay him?”

Her teenage anger was long behind her, but he was edging dangerously close to getting hit with a racquet. It was starting to sound like he actually believed what he was saying.

“First of all, I’m not paying him anything. And it sucks for you to say he picked my script because I have a rich father.”

“Kate, it gives me no joy to tell you this. But there’s a forty-two-point-three-seven percent chance Mr. Bass is a fraud.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I had calculated it at forty-two-point-three-eight.”

“Joke all you want, Kate. Millions of decisions are made every minute of every day using Buck’s algorithms.”

“That’s what you said when you canceled my prom date. And when you got my freshman roommate assigned to another dormitory. You even made Mom change gynecologists. Now that I think of it, the only person who was ever good enough for your algorithms was Noah, which is no surprise, seeing how he had to pass an FBI background check to work at the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

“They use our software.”

“Naturally. But I don’t want to live like that. A green light from Buck’s algorithms is not going to be the standard I set for all future relationships—personal, professional, romantic, whatever.”

“Take a look at Bass’s report. Judge for yourself.”

“I don’t what tojudgehim.”

“No accountability? Is that your philosophy?”

More of his “tough love.”Fuck offmight have been the deserved response, but Kate took the opportunity to tell him whatheneeded to hear.

“We are accountable for things we do. Not for things we’re projected to do based on every ‘friend’ on social media, every Tweet we’ve ever liked, every website we’ve ever visited, every video we’ve ever watched, and whatever else goes into your predictive software.”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Kate.”

“You mean the twentieth century,” she said, thinking of her play.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” She tossed him the hollow rubber ball as she led the way back inside the squash cubicle. “Your serve.”

Gamble took a quick shower, still smiling at the way Kate had roared back to win the best of three after losing the first game 11–1. Saying there was a 42.37 percent chance that Bass was a fraud had pissed her off enough to bring out the real Kate. It was like the old joke that 54.8 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot, and it had worked like a charm. But he had to be careful. That kind of button pushing used to bring out the best in Kate’s mother, too, until it brought out resentment—and worse.

He stopped at the self-serve refreshment bar to refill his water bottle and checked his cellphone. The text message from Detective Anderson grabbed his attention, terse as it was:pls call me.Gamble stepped outside, found a quiet place in the gazebo overlooking the pond, and got the detective on the line.

“Toxicology report is in,” he said. “Your wife’s blood-alcohol concentration was point-two-nine percent. For point of reference, a BAC of point-zero-eight is the legal limit for driving.”

“But you said she didn’t drink any of the vodka from the florist.”

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