The atmosphere in the office has thickened, and each inhale has become torture. Karen has lined up behind Mohamed's chair, glaring at the one and two-halves individuals in front of us. I apprehended seeing my tormentors again; I had, in nightmares, met their cruelty, their lack of empathy, and indulgence again. I forged a vision of them, perfectly insensitive to any distress, ours, or that of Mistress Salvi. However, now that they are facing us, I see above all that they are exhausted. The features of their faces drawn, and the hands shaking quickly like spasms. I want to blame them so much, but it seems clear that right now, they are living under the torture of our guilt. The Form herself retreats to the corner, completely, then disappears.

I also feel the recent revelations weakening my certainties. More than ever, the judgment, an easy and misleading impulse of my character, is forbidden to me.

"Mr. Salvi. You are early."

"No formal form of address between us, Momo! This ceremonial stuff between Masters and slaves honestly pisses me off! Yes, we left the docks early; their work was finished for today. And I want to end this as quickly as possible. Anyway, as the poor man whose wife you killed, I owe you no explanation!"

My gaze moves from Mohamed to Isaac, then falls again on Mr. Salvi. My chest is about to explode, and I am short of air.

"You... wanted us to, to... get rid of her... for you?" Ho-Jin says in horror, also understanding the implication behind Mr. Salvi's wry, deceptively sad look.

"Lucia's trade in fake anti-COVID-19 drugs was competing with mine, and the deadline for paying our contact at The New York City Hall, the money that would prevent our files from passing to those of the enslaved ones, was approaching quickly. She was the one who had threatened to take care of me first. I wanted my men to do the work so that I could take over her business and relocate to Mexico, where most of her merchandise comes from. But the police had their eyes on us for some time. We had to keep a low profile. This is when Isaac Grinberg Doe came to talk to me. It really happened at the right moment, like perfect timing! He and his wife couldn't afford to pay for their places in one of my ships, so they agreed to do this in return. I would have gotten rid of them later, but... it was very cunning of you to take my notebook. I never suspected you could have been involved, Kanoa. You look so unthreatening. I imagine they would have accused you too since we do need a culprit in all of this."

I am bewildered, genuinely horrified. I spent days with Mistress Salvi and saw nothing, not the slightest hint. I saw no flaws in the image of the embittered housewife, which she had built. The spotting that she was doing in Manhattan... She was preparing for a consequent cash infusion. The graffiti that looks like the acronym of her husband's stand for her band, I add up, retracing and filling in the gaps that my somehow sexist and biased lack of attention made invisible. However, the worst part of the story remains the stab in the back, which the Grinbergs wanted to inflict on us.

"You disgust me!" Karen spits in their direction. "How could you..."

"You would have done the same if a similar opportunity was presented to you, do not play Saints with us! You left her dying!" Isaac argues.

"We're fed up with your superior little expressions, while your "Daddy Mohamed" was himself dipping into shady things and making us do his dirty work!"

"We... we would have survived that occasion. We would have lived without this trip, without the enfranchisement, without the lottery. We would have continued to live as we always have, like miserable people, but with a clear conscience."

Mr. Salvi turns to Ho-Jin, disconcerted, then to me.

"So you really didn't know? What naivety! That explains everything... I mean, I was very surprised when Isaac mentioned your name, Kanoa. Me, who thought that finally, you were becoming a man."

"No, they did not know any of this, and that is the reason why I ask you to be indulgent with them, Mr. Salvi."

"I didn't send anyone for them, although they took my notebook. I didn't even do anything to Isaac and Rachel about it because I think I would need people so desperate to take that type of risks in Tijuana. I think that's already very lenient of me," Mr. Salvi says with his jaw clenched.

"I do not know what your men did, but I have learned, from a reliable New York Times acquaintance, that the police found the body of a woman near the Hudson River recently. An investigation will be opened..."

"It's already opened; they came to question me. It is Lucia that they found."

Everything falls apart again. I take my head in my hands; then, I hug my waist to appease my nausea.

"It was shoddy work by novices," Mr. Salvi says, turning to Isaac and Rachel. "You had to take care of the body in such a way that we would be already out of the state before they could identify it. But you lacked the courage to mutilate her. My men, who were in charge of finishing the work, left for Puerto Rico a few days ago, after talking to the police. Without warning me. They must have made a deal to make me fall and save themselves. Or maybe, they were working for her too. Trusted labor is becoming scarce and hard to find lately..."

"They will be at your service, as agreed, and I will also do my part here. But when can you get them to leave New York?" Mohamed asks.

"It is in my best interests to make you disappear without leaving bodies behind me, without having to kill you myself, letting the ocean take care of it. I trust no FreeRush member; you're all, deep down, terrorists, ready to risk it all. But the Ferrymen circuit is quite complex. Trips are planned months in advance with a very specific number of participants. Since Trump's accessed the government, controls have been more frequent and the Ferrymen more suspicious."

"You assured me that you would..." my father insists.

"I know what I've said. They will have to help me prepare all my things to leave, to reimburse their expenses. As soon as possible."

"I can deal with the Masters' files entrusted to me. I'll introduce yours and make sure to pair one of them with it. The others will be matched to Masters among your men," Mohamed replies. "They will be coming from this Sunday and the following days, hoping they can leave by then."

"I take care of this part. I was quite successful in getting Isaac and Rachel on the lists in exchange for a few promises to some Ferrymen. I should be able to do something for half portions like you."

The Grinbergs remain horribly silent, ever since their first intervention. Like if they are not really there anymore.

"What do we do with the police?" Karen finally dares to ask.

"It would be best to avoid it, but I think they will come and meet you, Kanoa. After all, you were one of the last people to see her alive officially. Apart from me."

Mr. Salvi warns me of what he told them about me to make sure our versions match. My brain is overheating; I cannot repeat his words correctly.

"It's not possible to be so sluggish! I can't do anything for you if he messes up!" he sighs, losing his temper. Anyway, I offered you all the help I had available. Now, it's up to you."

He walks towards the door.

"Come on, you two. You might be done for the work on the docks for today, but we still have a lot of things to prepare for the journey to Tijuana."

He and the Grinbergs leave the room. All of my limbs are still numb. This meeting raised more problems than it provided solutions. I wanted to yell at the Grinbergs like Ho-Jin did and ask them why they wanted to sacrifice us to a life of violence and false freedom with Mr. Salvi. I felt that the resentment, which they mentioned, against Mohamed was not enough for them to make such an extreme decision.

"My children, trust me. I will take care of all of this. Return to your Masters and resume your work. Kanoa, do not worry. Everything will go well," my father simply says.

There it was, clearer than ever, the expression that he had when he was telling a lie. Or maybe it is just that I can now see it more easily, mocking the blind confidence on which I built my principles. I resented him terribly, for all his untruths, but again, nothing came out of my mouth. Karen is the first to leave, after a long look in my direction. I let Ho-Jin go and run away from my father in turn.

I return to the Presbyterian Lower Manhattan Hospital and enter Sky's room, without minding the Masters-slaves segregationist proper etiquette. Anna is seated in one corner, and Mrs. Freeman in another. They both give me dirty, condescending looks when they see me come in.

"Kanoa!" Sky exclaims.

She is sitting on the bed, the blanket dragging on the floor. I approach despite the hostility of the two women already by her side. Immediately, my gaze falls on her right leg, or more accurately, I register the fact that it is no longer there. There are bandages around her knee, going up to the middle of her thigh.

"How are you, Sky?"

Mrs. Freeman also ticks, hearing me calling her daughter by her name, but she does not intervene. She gets up to leave the room.

"Everything went well. It's weird; it still feels like my foot is there. The doctor said it's normal."

"It will disappear with time," Anna comments.

"I know, I'm sure that I'll get used to it. It's more my mother who will have a hard time with it."

At the same moment, Mrs. Freeman enters the room again; a telephone clasped to her ear. Her dismayed look gives way to a smirk when she meets my gaze. The two police officers standing behind her quickly scour the room, stopping dead on my tattoo. They rush at me, pushing aside the small table near the bed.

"What's going on?" Sky worries, writhing on her bed.

"If this slave is yours, Miss, I can ask for your consent to question him. But, I don't need it to proceed," the smaller of the two officers quickly says.

"What do you mean? I don't understand..."

"Let them do, Sky..."

"You speak without the permission of your Mistress? How can you allow yourself so much familiarity?"

His words are accompanied by a violent blow causing me to fall to my knees. I breathe hard, a force pulling me towards the door. A thud prevents me from hearing Sky's protests. Mrs. Freeman narrowly restrains before she slips off the bed, carefully avoiding touching her bandage. My eyes pass over Anna's face, presenting a smile distorted through my tears.