The paper goes flying across the room. For all I know, I'll never find that address. I curse under my breath and open another editorial written by Fiona. For seven days, I have scoured all of Fiona's articles dating from 2003 to 2019 when she stopped writing. Blogs, interviews, editorials, I read it all but I have no damn clue.

I toss the newspaper on the mountain of others. I open the last magazine tentatively. This has to be it.

It's utter bullshit, lilies, this lilies that. All it talks about are lilies. For all I know, the lady is obsessed with lilies. I might as well call her Lily of New York." I fall back on my back. At this rate, I will never get what Fiona wants me to get.

Then it clicks, I shoot up with a speed of lightning. "Lily of New York!" I exclaim. All this time it was hidden in plain sight. In the heart of Hell's Kitchen, there is a small pub called Lily of New York

How I know this; I covered a story on a gang brawl that took place there a few years back.

A smile appears on my face, finally I can rest. I stash all the newspapers in a corner and get up from bed. I enter the elevator heading downstairs. I am wearing a knee length denim dress- the nearest thing I could find after coming hurriedly from work- a black pullover and canvas sneakers. I flag down a cab. A familiar yellow car stops in front of me. I break into a grin. The passenger side window rolls down displaying Roger.

"Good day, Tara." He greets me. I waste no time getting in. "Where to this time?"

"Lily of New York." He turns up another ballad playlist and drives out of park without further ado.

"Not to pry or anything, but why do you always go to unsafe places in the middle of the night?"

I have considered the question myself and I am not sure my reasoning is satisfactory, much less reasonable. "My friends like to meet at night."

Roger mulls it over a minute and moves on without comment. "I like the cocktails at Lily, you should try them."

"You've been there?"

"Yes, a couple of times. It is on my way home, and I do meet friends there often too." He turns on the radio at low volume. A report about yet another protest fills the air.

"What would you recommend that I take?" He starts listing multiple drinks with exotic names that I'm sure I won't remember. He is so engrossed, we arrive before he finishes. "Thanks again." I say as I alight from the backseat. "You don't have to wait for me this time." I add before I forget.

"Ok. See you later." He says.

I hope I don't. Meeting Roger a third time in less than a month was the only cue I needed. Oddly, he always seems to be at the right place exactly when I need a cab, like he knows my every move. Besides, what is a man who lives in Hell's Kitchen doing on Broadway at fucking 10 pm? Dad must be paying him dearly for this.

I walk into the pub at exactly 7pm. I am stunned by the chilling silence inside. Am I too early? I walk inside and see no one in sight. Fear building up, I think once or twice about turning around and returning home. I go further into the room, looking for a sign of any life in the room.

Suddenly, a silhouette appears behind me. For a split second, I believe I have fallen into one of my father's traps. I am accosted by fear. I turn around, ready to meet the worst of my fate. A man in high waisted pants, a black coat with a server's badge on his chest stands before me. Tension ebbs out of me as I realize it was only a false alarm. "She is waiting in the back room." He says in a caucasian accent I can't place. He looks twenty something-ish, a college student I presume, working odd jobs like this one to make ends meet in the Big Apple. I see many of those these days, it's like all of a sudden big cities became the 'it' location and everyone wanted to be there despite not having even peanuts to survive there and they end up living like rats under dilapidated ghettos.

I follow the fellow and pass through a dimly lit corridor, the walls are stained with finger marks. He leads me to the third door on the right. The inside is so much brighter than the outside. Fiona is perched behind a table, her arms crossed in front of her. As if on impulse she stands up when I enter. She orders the server to close the door after I enter.

"Have a seat." Her voice is soft, like she is talking to someone very dear. "Do you want something to drink?" she asks. I shake my head no. She settles across from me and rummages through a bag. Getting straight to the point.

"We don't have much time, so let me make it quick." She pulls out a large bundle of papers held together by string. The papers have ears from many years of wear and are a bit browned. She sets them on the table releasing an antiqual smell. "I am sure you wanted these. Your mother left me a lot of papers and evidence when she passed on. She had intended to use them against your father, but as you know I never had the guts to follow through."

Her hand absently caressed the papers, "I think you are a very brave girl, Tara. I know you are. And I intend to leave these papers with you, so that you can do what I couldn't do. Please bring justice for all of his victims." Her eyes are beseeching. I want to assure her that I'll do it, but I can't.

She pushes the bundle to me. I pick it up tentatively and leaf through the tops of the papers. This is a lot to digest, but I am willing to get through it all if it means my mother is avenged.

"Thank you." I reply earnestly. Even though I was prejudiced against her, Fiona has proven to be my true ally.

She lays a key on the table between us. "There's more at my old apartment. They'll let you in." I keep that in my jacket pocket. "If you need me, you'll find me." One of her signature vague statements, but I know I will.

"I will. Have a good life Fiona. My mother would be very pleased."

"She already is." He says motioning to me. I give a brief smile.

I walk out of Lily like a hawk on guard. I can not be so sure that Roger left. I head down the road towards an intersection. I plan to take a cab on the next block. I flag one down and enter. Gradually, a stench in the car starts filtering into my nose. My nostrils scrunch up to stop the putrid smell from entering my lungs but I can't hold it for long. The back seat feels sticky, I shudder to think of what this substance might be. The driver isn't bothered one bit. He drives with his arm hanging on the window ledge, the other clutching the steering leisurely.

My dress peels off the backseat revoltingly. I will have to discard it later. I step out of the car and pay my fare. I take a shower before getting into my pajamas and opening the bundle of papers.

My mother left Fiona all kinds of incriminating files on my father. Copies of some of his dealings, some shawdy, some not; message clips, emails, a handful of letters, best of all memos. This is literal gold. By the time I am done, I will definitely have a case to take to court.

Over the next few days, I scan the entirety of the papers as a backup and store them on my computer.

I am jolted awake by my phone ringing. I fell asleep while reading, some papers under my head and all over my bed. I pick up the phone and answer.

"Yes." My head is still drowsy; I do not check who called me.

"It's good of you to answer." August's voice slithers through my foggy head, and instantly wakes me up. I sit up.

More alert, I wonder what made him call me this late, or at all. "Why did you call?" My voice is strained, I can't decipher what I did this time to make him call me. Does he have something against me?

"Tut tut. Where are your manners?" He asks, condescension dripping from his voice. "I wanted to say hello." Mentally, I call bullshit. He proceeds like we are having a normal conversation, "and ask what you've been up to lately."

"Nothing at all. It's been the same as always." I follow his cue.

"Hmm? I heard that you've been out and about, talking to people. What have you been talking about?"

So that's what this is about? "I am making friends." I lie. A chilly silence ensues from his side. He doesn't appreciate my joke.

"Be serious with me, Tara." He orders in a low tone.

"I am serious. Older or not, I don't need to tell you what I do, so why are you asking, Auggy?" I add that name to infuriate him. He hates it a lot, probably more than he hates me.

His tone is clipped with cold rage "You've been snooping around in my business, sister," he says like it's a detestable poison he has to spit out. "And I don't like that. Dad won't like it. I'd rather you lay low and go about your pathetic little life without stirring trouble." He punctuates that with a cough.

I want to laugh. Not at the threats, those are very real, but how the weaker one of us is the one throwing around threats. Ever since that August day, I have been the better child; the one with better health, a good job, dad liked me more, up until a point.

"I hear you Auggy, but I am not afraid of you."

"You better be." The line is dead before I answer. He got the last word in. Deep down, I do take his threat seriously, and I want to be frightened but August just doesn't understand how important this is to me.

I lay back down and close my eyes. A gentle breeze enters through the window carrying with it a faint scent of the ocean.

I have to proceed with caution from now on. What Fiona gave me is enough to make me a threat to both my father and August, and they will eliminate all threats without thought, whether blood-related or not. I can indict them but I know it won't be long before they leave prison and return to put hell over me, but I am prepared to live with that if it means mom gets justice even for a few days.