She’d hastily invited cousins, nosy neighbors, and even Daniel’s senior business partner, Richard.

I knew the guest list, the menu, and the seating arrangement, because Maria—the head housekeeper I’d quietly paid double her official salary for years—was live-texting me video snippets from the pantry.

In the latest clip, Evelyn held court at the head of the mahogany table, draped in the fifteen-thousand-dollar Mikimoto pearls I’d bought her for her sixtieth birthday.

“That wretched girl thought her silence was a sign of hidden strength,” Evelyn declared, raising a crystal glass of sparkling water. “But she mistook class for weakness.

This family has a legacy. We have standards. We do not tolerate pests.”

Daniel, smug in a tailored linen suit, stood and raised his own glass. “To loyalty,” he toasted. “And to cutting off dead weight.”