The drive from the Hamptons was a blur of polished steel and tinted glass. Alexander had engineered the move with the ruthless efficiency of a military operation: two cars, a decoy van, and a security detail that made me feel less protected and more like a high-value target.

I watched the miles dissolve outside the window. Part of me was frantic with relief, a frantic bird escaping a too-big cage. He can’t possibly know this address. But the other part, the fearful, rational part, whispered: ...