Conversations died one by one.

Heads turned toward the starboard side.

A harbor police launch cut through the chop and came alongside the yacht, blue lights sliding over the white hull and the glassware and Theodora’s suddenly colorless face.

The music stopped — someone below had finally thought to kill it — and in the new silence the only sounds were the slap of water against the two hulls and the low idle of the launch’s engines.

Even the crew seemed to stop breathing.

Twelve people in linen and gold watches stood very still, holding their drinks, watching a police boat tie up to a party they had believed was untouchable.