“I remember,” I said.

His smile vanished.

I watched him try to read those two words, try to decide whether they were a threat or a surrender, and I let him wonder, because I was not going to tell him what else I remembered.

I was not going to tell him about my father’s security system, or the encrypted server, or the second copy of everything that had happened in that kitchen sitting safe in a cloud he did not know how to reach.

I only said I remember, and let it mean whatever his guilty mind decided it meant.