Behind him were two officers from the county sheriff’s department, and behind them was a woman in a navy suit carrying a briefcase, who had been in her car in the drive for eleven minutes waiting for a phone call.

Theresa Fairchild had been Chadworth Prescott’s general counsel for nineteen years.

She had closed the acquisition that made him.

She had also, twice in that time, told him to his face that he was about to do something stupid, which was why she still had the job.

Sabina made a noise.

“Why are there police in this house?”

“Because it stopped being a private matter about an hour ago,” Chadworth said.

Theresa set the case on the console table and opened it.