“And Cecily?” She leaned closer. Her perfume was overwhelming.

“Tonight is Josephine’s night. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever resentment you think you’re entitled to, keep it to yourself. Don’t embarrass us.”

She walked away before I could answer.

Table twenty-seven was at the back of the ballroom, half-hidden behind a large pillar. My tablemates were distant cousins I’d met maybe twice.

From my seat, I could see the main stage, the massive portrait of Josephine in her graduation regalia, and the banner reading “Congratulations, Josephine Ashford, Harvard Law Class of 2024.”

Near the entrance, standing alone by the door, was a silver-haired man in a gray suit. He wasn’t mingling. He wasn’t eating. He was just watching the crowd.