He tipped his champagne glass a little, letting the ice strike the crystal side with a sharp, deliberate clink.

“This is a professional event for company directors and major investors, Serena,” he said, pitching his voice loud enough to carry around the circle of board members.

“It isn’t a charity intake center for unstable foster cases.”

A woman in a red silk dress touched her double-strand pearl necklace and looked down at my dark maternity dress with a silent glare.

“She was living in a state-run home when I found her,” Patrick told the group, gesturing at me with a gold-cuffed wrist.