Toby was curled up on the Persian rug, clutching his right elbow to his ribs, small ragged breaths catching in his chest.

“State your emergency,” the dispatcher said through the speaker.

“I need an ambulance at forty-two Pinecrest Manor Drive,” I said, keeping my voice low and flat.

“A seven-year-old boy has a severe fracture to his upper arm.”

“Cancel that call,” Charles ordered, stepping away from the head of the dining table.

He adjusted his gold cufflinks with a quick flick of his wrists.

“Valerie, hang up that phone this instant.”