I sat at the wrought-iron table with six velvet fabric swatches, comparing dusty blue against pale gold for the nursery armchair.

The blue flash drive sat safely in my canvas handbag upstairs, holding forty-one thousand two hundred dollars’ worth of wire transfers to Mercer Ridge LLC.

Chloe Park had agreed late the evening before to take my case on full contingency after going through those server logs, and as I looked at Eleanor across the table, my hands stayed steady.

“I spoke far too sharply to you at the country club, Vivian,” Eleanor said without pausing her stitch count.

“You told the board members I was having paranoid delusions,” I said.