“I’m going to find Sasha Meeks,” she said. “And if I can’t find her, I’m going to find her sister. And then I’m going to tell her that handled isn’t the same as gone .”
“Sasha had a sister,” Vanessa hissed.
The previous au pair. The one the Thornes said “went back to Poland suddenly.” the au pair eve sweet
Eve had looked her up. Sasha Meeks wasn’t Polish. She was from Ohio. And her social media had gone dark eighteen months ago.
She stepped into the rain and didn’t look back. “I’m going to find Sasha Meeks,” she said
It was a thin, braided leather band with a single silver charm shaped like an acorn. Eve had found it three months ago, tucked deep in the back of a guest room closet, tangled in an old curtain tie-back. On the inside of the leather, someone had scratched two tiny words: HELP ME .
She’d been an au pair for the Thornes for eleven months. The Thornes lived in a glass-and-concrete cube perched on the Hudson Palisades, a house so sharp and modern it looked like it might cut you. Marcus Thorne was a hedge fund manager who communicated in grunts. Vanessa Thorne was a former lifestyle blogger turned “influencer’s manager,” which meant she spent her days yelling into her phone about algorithms and her evenings drinking Sauvignon Blanc in a bathrobe. The previous au pair
The word handled landed in Eve’s chest like a cold stone.