I caught Michael’s eye and gave a small shake of my head. Don’t. I stepped back into the shadows and accepted the erasure.

Just as the flash popped, capturing their lie of a perfect family, I saw Vance lean over and whisper into my father’s ear. My father’s face went pale.

He nodded frantically, his eyes darting until they landed on me. He wasn’t calling me over to join the family. He was calling me over to serve the enemy.

He snapped his fingers — a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the soft jazz — and gestured toward the private alcove where Richard Vance now lounged on a velvet settee, a bodyguard the size of a small mountain behind him.

I approached slowly, holding the docile posture of the invisible man.

“You took your time,” my father muttered as I reached the table. He turned to Vance, his manner shifting from tyrannical to sycophantic. “Richard, I apologize.