{"product_id":"the-real-michael-swann-isbn-9781524742348","title":"The Real Michael Swann","description":"\u003cb\u003e“A twisting, heart-wrenching journey into a marriage, a gripping thriller . . . Reardon grabs his readers on page one, then deftly ratchets up the suspense until the breathless ending.”—Lisa Unger, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJulia Swann, mother of two young boys, is on the phone with her husband, Michael, when the call abruptly cuts out. It isn’t until later in the evening when she discovers that something terrible has happened at Penn Station, where Michael was waiting for a train home.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJulia races to New York City to look for Michael, her panicked searching interwoven with memories of meeting and falling in love with the husband she’s now desperate to find. When someone finds a flyer she’s posted and tells her they may have seen her husband, her prayers seem to be answered. Yet as she tries to find him, her calls go unanswered. Did Michael survive? If so, why hasn’t he contacted her? Was he—or is he still—the man she fell in love with?  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePart family drama, part tragic love story, \u003ci\u003eThe Real Michael Swann\u003c\/i\u003e is a deftly plotted suspense novel with an unflinching portrait of a marriage at its heart, challenging us to confront the unthinkable—both in our country and in our own homes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Reardon masterfully delivers an intimate, heartbreaking portrayal of a family whose love, trust, and loyalty for each other is put to the ultimate test.”—Rhiannon Navin, author of \u003ci\u003eOnly Child\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Bryan Reardon keeps the action moving so expertly that I read [\u003ci\u003eThe Real Michael Swann\u003c\/i\u003e] nearly in one sitting and I bet you'll want to, too.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—The Charlotte Observer\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Reardon] reminds us, in these often terrifying times, how quickly the ground beneath us can disappear when all we’re trying to do is return home.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Star-Ledger \u003c\/i\u003e(Newark, NJ)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Reardon delivers another page-turner with frighteningly plausible scenarios, an occasionally wrenching narrative, and a final message that is particularly relevant for our times.\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“For when you’re craving an I’m-not-sure-where-this-is-going ride of a read.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eFamily Circle\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What seems like a straightforward story . . . becomes much more in the hands of Reardon. Surprises on many levels and genuine thrills are abundant in this engrossing thriller.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Suspense Magazine \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e“A dark, twisting thriller that will keep readers up into the wee hours. Harlan Coben meets Greg Iles, with plenty of misdirection.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An intriguing and original premise . . . many twists and turns that keep readers guessing till the end.” \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Kirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[An] addictively readable thriller . . . Readers shouldn’t be surprised if they find themselves staying up to finish this in one sitting.”\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A thriller that will keep you guessing.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Parkersburg News and Sentinel\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"A fantastic commentary on what we think we know about those we love, as well as violence in the United States.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eRead It Forward \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Out of all the books I’ve read so far this year, I cannot think of one that caught me more by surprise than this one.”—\u003cb\u003eThe Real Book Spy\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This is just an overall riveting book, and it works as a thriller, a mystery, and an astute autopsy of a marriage, not to mention a well-drawn family drama. Nicely done.” —\u003cb\u003eCriminal Element\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A thoughtful novel about misidentification, family bonds, and marriage . . . Without using car chases or overt violence, Reardon keeps the suspense high.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eMystery Scene\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThe Real Michael Swann\u003c\/i\u003e is a twisting, heart-wrenching journey into a marriage, a gripping thriller, and the story of a family ripped apart by terrible violence. Bryan Reardon grabs his readers on page one, then deftly ratchets up the suspense page-by-page revealing slim fragments of truth until the breathless ending. A chilling, haunting read.” —\u003cb\u003eLisa Unger, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Red Hunter\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eThe Real Michael Swann\u003c\/i\u003e pulls you right in and leaves you gasping. It's gripping, smart, and to-the-minute timely, with two memorable and powerfully sympathetic central characters.\"—\u003cb\u003eJoseph Finder, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Switch\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What begins as a portrait of a modern marriage swiftly evolves into a shocking, complex examination of the American Dream—what it was, what it has become, and what remains. Both a love story and a brilliant social commentary, \u003ci\u003eThe Real Michael Swann\u003c\/i\u003e moved me deeply and kept me turning pages deep into the night.\"\u003cb\u003e—Amanda Eyre Ward, author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Same Sky\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Bryan Reardon’s compelling new novel lives at the intersection of ripped-from-the-headlines catastrophe and abiding, deeply personal human love. Julia and Michael’s marriage is so finely drawn that Julia’s crisis of faith in her husband felt every bit as crucial to me as the national horror unfolding around her. The marriage, at least as much as the mystery, kept me up late, with my heart in my throat, turning pages.”\u003cb\u003e—Marisa de los Santos, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eBelong to Me\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eI’ll Be Your Blue Sky\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThe Real Michael Swann\u003c\/i\u003e takes you on a wild, suspenseful ride that has you holding your breath from the very first page to the startling, shocking twist at the end. Amid terrifying tragedy and desolation, Bryan Reardon masterfully delivers an intimate, heartbreaking portrayal of a family whose love, trust, and loyalty for each other is put to the ultimate test.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e —Rhiannon Navin, author of \u003ci\u003eOnly Child\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThe Real Michael Swann\u003c\/i\u003e is a riveting read, pertinent and relevant to the times we now live in, with characters that keep the reader emotionally involved right up until its almost shocking ending. A highly recommended and insightful work of fiction.”\u003cb\u003e—Lisa Ballantyne, author of \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eEverything She Forgot\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eBryan Reardon\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of \u003ci\u003eFinding Jake\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Real Michael Swann\u003c\/i\u003e. Prior to becoming a full-time writer, Bryan worked for the State of Delaware for more than a decade, starting in the Office of the Governor. He holds a degree in psychology from the University of Notre Dame and lives in West Chester, Pennsylvania, with his wife and kids.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I can see her every day. I close my eyes and she appears out of      the darkness, a brightness that I simply don't deserve. I can      still picture her on that day. She wore a white tank top and capri      pants, although it took me months to remember that was what they      were called. She stood in the light, its beams touching the soft      skin of her cheeks and the heart-stopping strength in her eyes.      Her dark hair was pulled back, highlighting the lines of her face      and classically long neck. She looked like a runner and a leader,      a mother and a timeless beauty, at least to me. And I saw the ring      on her finger, silver and simple. Her name was Julia. Julia Swann.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On the day it happened, she sat on her back porch with two      neighbors, Evelyn and Tara. Their kids played out in the yard with      large and expensive water guns. Their excited screams echoed      throughout the tight-knit, established neighborhood nestled in the      countryside outside Philadelphia.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Can you believe the riots last night?\" Julia asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Crazy, right? I don't get it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Me, either,\" Evelyn said. \"These protests are sort of like the      wrestling my brother used to watch when he was a kid.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia laughed. \"Yeah, but that was fake. This is real.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I think they should just arrest them all,\" Tara said, her tone      sharper than the others'. \"They're full of it. Screaming about      promises and that damn wall! No one even seems to care that so      many people are losing their jobs.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Evelyn and Julia didn't say anything for a moment. They knew full      well how charged this topic could be, especially with Tara. Yet      Julia also knew how worried her friend was. And she wanted to give      her a chance to let it out. Maybe it would help.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Over a thousand layoffs?\" she asked, her brow rising and her      glass of chardonnay tipping in her right hand. Tara nodded. Her      eyes reddened as she looked away. Most of the neighborhood knew      that she and her family probably would have to move if her husband      couldn't find a new job.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's just so messed up,\" Tara said. \"I mean, I thought he'd work      there for his entire career. That's what my dad did.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Everything's so different now,\" the third mother, Evelyn Chase,      added. She had short dark hair and wore coordinating Athleta      running clothes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia leaned back and watched the children. Her boys, Evan, 12,      and Thomas, 8, were close friends with Evelyn's oldest, Brady. At      that moment, they stood with their heads close together, like they      were planning the perfect coordinated attack on the other      children.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Is it definite?\" Julia asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I think so, but they haven't announced who's getting cut. I guess      there was a big meeting today, but I haven't heard anything yet.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Can he find something local?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tara shook her head and laughed. \"I doubt it. He's a plant      geneticist. The jobs, if there are any, are going to be in the      Midwest.\" She laughed again, but this time a tear ran down her      cheek. \"Can you just picture it? Me in Iowa?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's really nice out there,\" Evelyn said. \"That's what I hear.      Frannie Goode moved there a few years ago and loves it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Really?\" Tara asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yeah,\" Evelyn said. \"You'll be okay. It'll be hard at first, but      any change is. And you'll see, the kids will be great. I mean,      look at them. They get along with everyone. And with their sports,      it'll be great.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What if they don't make a team?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia shook her head. \"Yeah, right.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The three of them stopped talking for a second. They sipped their      wine with a practiced synchrony. The kids continued to laugh and      call out as a neighbor drove by, honking her horn in greeting. The      three smiled and waved.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"She just started working at the library,\" Julia mentioned,      absently.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Karen?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yup.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"At the school?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No, in the borough.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Really?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That's great,\" Evelyn said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia's phone vibrated. It sat on the arm of the Adirondack chair      she and Michael bought when they went to the beach in June. She      glanced at the screen and saw the call came from her husband.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I have to take this.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No problem,\" Evelyn said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia shot a quick glance at Tara, finding her watching the kids.      It looked like her friend might cry at any moment. As she rose      from the chair, phone in one hand and wine on the armrest, she      touched Tara's shoulder. Their eyes met and Julia smiled. The      movement of her mouth was subtle and kind. Tara's eyes lowered,      and she placed a hand softly atop Julia's, for just a second. As      Julia walked back toward the house, the pit of her stomach lightly      rolled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Hi,\" she answered the call.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Hey,\" her husband, Michael, said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She heard thick noise in the background. \"Where are you? It sounds      like a party.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"At Penn Station. Just walking down the steps.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She took a breath. \"How'd it go?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It went great,\" he said. She heard the tone he used. It had      recently become more recognizable in the way it sounded, as if his      words were meant more to convince himself than anything else. \"I      think it did. The questions were pretty standard. I think I did      really well answering them. The HR rep took me to lunch. You would      love her. She's got two kids just a little younger than ours.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia touched her belly and looked out the window. \"Did you like      the offices?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Definitely.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"The people?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yeah, pretty much.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Pretty much?\" she asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I mean, it was-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Huh.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The world outside took on focus when one of the boys screamed. She      saw her younger son, Thomas, holding his forehead. His shaggy      blond bangs nearly swallowed his thin fingers. But she saw his      eyes wide-with pain or anger, she couldn't tell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Gotta go,\" she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Everything okay?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yeah, Tara and Evelyn are here. I think Thomas hit his head or      something.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Bad?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She laughed. \"Probably not.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"How's Tara doing?\" he asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She sighed. \"Doesn't look good. She's pretty sure they'll have to      move.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That sucks,\" Michael said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e No one said anything for a moment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yeah.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Thomas pushed open the door into the kitchen. His cry echoed      through the phone connection.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Whoa,\" Michael said. \"Take care of him. I should be home in about      three hours, assuming the train's on time.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Love you,\" she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Love you, too.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia hung up just as Evan came through the back door and reached      Thomas. He bent and spoke softly to his little brother, a hand on      the smaller boy's shoulder. In moments like that, Julia noticed so      much of his father in Evan, with his red-blond hair and blue eyes.      He was a baseball player, like his dad. In the moment, her son's      maturity caught her off guard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"They're growing up so fast,\" she whispered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With a smile, Evan returned to the kids outside and Thomas came to      Julia. He was no longer crying, but she took him in her arms and      kissed the top of his head. The coarse hair there smelled of the      sun, and a surprising heat touched her lips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What happened?\" she whispered, holding him tightly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His words stuttered like a chronic cough. \"Brady hit me in the      head.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"On purpose?\" she asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Probably.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia turned her head, resting her cheek on the warmth of her      son's head and fighting back the urge to laugh. A wide smile      crossed her face and she rubbed his back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Guess what I bought yesterday?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His sobbing stopped on a dime. \"What?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Those popsicles you like with the cream inside.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He pulled back and looked up at her. \"Can I have one?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Only if you bring some out for everyone.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His bare feet danced on their porcelain-tiled floor. \"Okay.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Is your head okay?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yeah!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The feeling Julia had in that moment was hard to describe. She had      it often, but mostly at the oddest of times. Silently listening      from the other room as her boys discussed something trivial with      the absolute earnestness of the young. The way Evan's brow      furrowed when he worked on his math homework. Or when Thomas      stomped around the house in his father's size-thirteen shoes. In a      way, that feeling, a flutter high in her midriff, might be called      a physical manifestation of pure love. Yet it seemed at once more      and less than that. It felt primal to her, utterly undeniable but      far too fleeting. The rest of the day she never truly thought      about it, yet its absence lurked, waiting for life to slow down      just enough for it to flare up once again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Regardless, it felt simple and good. She tousled his hair and      opened the freezer. She was about to hand the box to him, but she      stopped. Feeling light for no particular reason, she dug through      the popsicles until she found a red one, her favorite. She took      that for herself before handing the box to Thomas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Remember, share,\" she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I will.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"And start with the adults.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Julia followed Thomas out. He scurried over to Evelyn and Tara and      offered cream-filled popsicles with the utmost politeness. The two      women thought to protest. With big smiles, they saw Julia, her      lips already a deeper red and a childish sparkle in her eyes,      standing behind her son. Giggling, Evelyn took a purple one, Tara      a green. The three women shared popsicles and chardonnay as they      watched their children play under the hot summer sun.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The truck rolled down a narrow access road at approximately 4:10      p.m. The man driving knew he was early. He'd driven the road three      times in preparation. He followed the same path, about half a mile      from where the road ended, replaced by a vast meadow of dry hay      grass. When he coasted to a stop, he had already decided the spot      was perfect for two reasons. One, it was absolutely remote. For      the weeks he'd watched the entrance, not a single vehicle had      traveled in or out on that road. Two, that particular bend came      within fifty yards of the Amtrak rails. He got out and looked east      toward the tracks and the dry grass between that spot and where he      stood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He did not smile. His face remained set in a hard yet emotionless      expression as he walked around the side of the truck. He released      the tailgate and leaned forward, his hands reaching for two red      canisters of gasoline. Straightening, he stepped to the edge of      the grass and placed one on the ground. The second he carried as      he moved off the road toward the tracks. The hay swayed around      him, brushing his thighs and waist. His one hand reached out      slightly, and he let it trail atop the blades. Dry. Perfect.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He spoke softly to himself as he uncapped the canister and slowly      poured out the gasoline as he walked a serpentine trail along the      tracks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"When the time comes,\" he said, his tone strangely flat despite      the slight accent, \"I'll be remembered as the patriot that made      things right again, not that liar. I'm the real American. They      won't get it at first. They might see me as the bad guy. That's      okay. History will see it differently. I am the one . . . versus      the one hundred. That much I know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When the last drops fell from the first canister, he proceeded to      seed the field with the second. When that was done as well, he      walked back to the truck. Leaning against the side panel, his hand      slipped into the front pocket of his blue jeans. His fingers      wrapped around the matches. When he pulled them out, the summer      sun reflected off the stars and stripes on the top of the box.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Before pulling out a single match, the man licked a finger and      held it into the air, testing the wind. Dry and hot, it blew east,      toward the distant Atlantic Ocean. He nodded and removed the      match.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"God bless America,\" the man said, striking the red tip.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A tear of flame licked from the frail wood. Left alone, it could      only burn for an instant before running out of fuel. Instead,      though, the man flicked the match, the careless gesture of a man      who worked with his hands. Maybe he had lit hundreds of charcoal      grills in his backyard, grilled up thousands of burgers for his      family. The match turned a lazy arc through the air, landing five      feet into the brush. In the blink of an eye, a larger flame      whipped into the air. It widened, running the path the man had      walked a moment before. Thick gray smoke billowed into the air.      The man watched it for a second before returning to his truck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Before driving away, he leaned to the side and entered a      combination into a leather briefcase on the passenger seat. It      popped open and he looked at the contents, nodding. Then he drove      away, back onto the turnpike and toward the Lincoln Tunnel.","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299792670949,"sku":"NP9781524742348","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781524742348.jpg?v=1767741172","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-real-michael-swann-isbn-9781524742348","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}