Every map is a lie. Her father spent thirty years drawing them anyway. Forensic accountant Iris Vance finds what other people hide for a living - the shell company, the diverted grant, the buried transaction. She has never once turned that gift on herself. Then her estranged father dies in a Maine lighthouse under circumstances his oldest friend insists weren't natural, and Iris inherits the one thing she never expected: a basement full of hand-drawn maps that chart not coastlines, but lies. Bribes. Affairs. Three decades of a town's secrets, rendered in ink. One map shows her own childhood bedroom. The window open. A margin note in her father's trembling hand: Iris was there. Iris saw. Iris forgot. Twenty-eight years ago, a local girl named Margaret Holloway vanished the night before she was set to reveal a truth that would have burned this town to the ground. Iris was seven years old. She doesn't remember a thing. As she uncovers her father's obsession - and her own erased night - Iris is drawn toward Samuel Okonkwo, the town's beloved physician, a man who has never once told a lie in his life. That's exactly what makes him impossible to catch. The Atlas can chart every deception in Port Meridian except him. He is the blank space at the center of every map. The blind spot the whole town built itself around. To find out what she saw, Iris will have to become the one thing her father's genius could never manage: honest enough to draw the one map he left incomplete - the one with her own name on it. A gripping, literary psychological thriller for readers of The Dutch House and Where the Crawdads Sing - about the maps we draw to survive the truth, and the ones we finally have to erase.
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