The first time Jessica Miller and Megan Flores destroyed my life, they pushed me from the roof of a thirty-six-story building. The second time, I opened my eyes in our high school library and heard the boy they had killed me for say, “Ryan, come on. We made a promise. The four of us stay together.”
Chapter 3
Harvard gave me something I had not realized I needed: distance.
Distance from Ethan. Distance from Jessica and Megan. Distance from the version of myself who had spent years believing loyalty meant rescuing people from every bad decision they made.
I studied computer science and economics. I met students who challenged me instead of manipulating me, friends who could disagree without turning disagreement into betrayal. My life became filled with labs, late-night coffee, internships, ideas, and plans too large to fit inside the neighborhood where I grew up.
My parents occasionally mentioned the old crowd.
Jessica worked nights at a diner to pay tuition.
Megan took shifts at a grocery store.
Ethan was failing classes.
Apparently, he blamed the girls because they were not tutoring him enough.
By junior year, he dropped out.
Then he announced that college was a scam and convinced Jessica and Megan that he was going to become wealthy through cryptocurrency. They took out personal loans to support his investments.
He lost almost everything.
Then he stole what remained and disappeared.
The only message he left them said, “You girls dragged me down. I need a fresh start. Don’t look for me.”
When Dad told me, I expected to feel satisfaction.
Instead, I felt tired.
For years I had carried the memory of my first death like a stone beneath my ribs. I had thought seeing them suffer might balance some invisible scale.
But sitting in my apartment that evening, I understood something simpler.
Nothing could repay a life.
The only victory that mattered was living the one I had now.
So I did.
During my senior year, I built predictive analytics software with two classmates. After graduation, we found investors. Two years later, a larger technology company acquired us for more money than I had ever imagined possessing.
At twenty-four, I had an office overlooking the Charles River and an apartment my mother still called “ridiculous.”
I traveled. I invested. I helped fund scholarships for students who needed them.
And slowly, the rooftop faded.
Until a rainy Tuesday in November.
My assistant, Clara, called me just before lunch.
“Ryan, there are two women downstairs asking for you.”
I kept typing. “Names?”
“Jessica Miller and Megan Flores.”
My hands stopped.
Six years.
For six years, I had not spoken to either one.
“They say they’re childhood friends,” Clara added. “Security is ready to escort them out.”
Rain streaked the windows behind my desk.
I should have said yes.
Instead, curiosity won.
“Send them to Conference Room B. Keep security nearby.”
When I entered the room ten minutes later, I almost didn’t recognize them.
Jessica’s hair was pulled into a tired knot. Megan looked painfully thin. Both were twenty-four, yet exhaustion had added years to their faces.
Jessica stood immediately.
“Ryan.”
I remained beside the door.
“Why are you here?”
Megan glanced around the polished conference room, then at my suit.
“We saw the article about your company.”
“I assumed you didn’t come for an autograph.”
Jessica swallowed.
“We need a lawyer.”
I said nothing.
“A really good lawyer,” she added. “We thought maybe you could help us.”
“Why?”
Megan began crying.
Not the theatrical tears Ethan used in high school. These were uncontrolled, exhausted sobs.
Jessica took a shaky breath.
“Ethan came back.”
The name felt like something from an old dream.
“He showed up about a year ago,” she continued. “He owed people money. He had nowhere to stay.”
“And you let him in.”
Jessica lowered her eyes.
“We were stupid.”
Megan wiped her face. “We’d finally paid down most of the debt he left us. We were finishing our associate degrees and planning to transfer to a state university.”
“Then Ethan came home,” Jessica said. “He found our financial records.”
My expression must have changed because she spoke faster.
“He opened credit cards in our names. Loans too. We didn’t know until collection notices started coming.”
“How much?”
Megan whispered the number.
It was staggering.
“We confronted him,” Jessica said. “He blamed us for everything. He said we forced him into South Side. He said we had ruined his life.”
I almost smiled at the irony.
Then Jessica said, “He went to the police before we did.”
I frowned.
“He claimed we were running a financial fraud scheme and using his identity as cover,” Megan said. “He planted files on my computer. There are accounts connected to my name that I’ve never seen.”
“We were arrested last week,” Jessica whispered.
Silence filled the room.
“We’re out on bail,” Megan said, “but this could become federal.”
Jessica suddenly dropped to her knees.
“Ryan, please.”
I looked down at her.
She clasped her hands together.
“We’ll pay you back. We’ll work for you. Anything. Please hire someone who can save us.”
Save us.
The words opened a door inside my mind.
Suddenly I was standing on another roof.
Jessica’s hand was around my arm.
Megan was crying.
“If you hadn’t separated us, Ethan would still be alive.”
Then came the push.
I heard the wind.
I saw the pavement.
“Stand up,” I said.
Jessica looked at me with sudden hope.
She rose quickly.
I stared at both women.
“Did you push Ethan off a building?”
They blinked.
“What?” Megan whispered.
“Did you murder him?”
“Ryan, nobody died.”
“No,” I said quietly. “Not this time.”
They exchanged a frightened look.
I walked toward the windows. Thirty floors below us, Boston traffic moved through rain-darkened streets.
“In another life,” I said, more to myself than to them, “I thought saving people meant stopping them from making terrible choices.”
Jessica frowned. “What are you talking about?”
I turned around.
“Six years ago, you held me down while Ethan tried to sabotage my future. You laughed when he told me I could date whichever one of you he didn’t want.”
“We were teenagers,” Megan said.
“You were old enough to know stealing someone’s computer was wrong.”
“We made a mistake.”
“A mistake is forgetting a homework assignment.”
My voice remained calm.
“What you did was a choice. Then you made another choice. And another. You followed him, financed him, borrowed for him, welcomed him back after he stole from you, and now you’re standing here because you expect me to clean up what’s left.”
Jessica’s face crumpled.
“We don’t have anybody else.”
For one dangerous second, the old Ryan returned.
The boy who remembered kindergarten birthdays and summer vacations. The boy who once believed friendship meant never abandoning anyone.
Then I remembered where that belief had taken me.
