And for the first time that night, Emerson understood that he was not watching a petty family quarrel.
He was watching a burglary, a betrayal, and a marriage built entirely on a fraud.
Portia bolted for the side exit.
But Edmund Pemberton was already on the phone with the police.
And Emerson, white as the tablecloths, whispered the question that split the room in two.
“Mom… what else do you know?”
Chapter 12 — What Else Do You Know
Rosalind looked at her son and understood the question was not a simple one, because she knew far too much.
She knew Portia had spent eighteen months quietly isolating him — inventing weekend conflicts to keep him from visiting, planting the idea that his mother treated him like a child, mocking his memories because she wanted his roots severed before she dragged him abroad.
But she also knew something worse.