“Daniel,” she said softly, picking up the handbag. “Claire isn’t clumsy. And she isn’t a clerk.”

The silence in the room went absolute.

Vanessa held my bag aloft by its strap, the red lens reflecting the light. With a casual, brutal flick of her wrist, she smashed it against the stone corner of the fireplace.

The clasp shattered, the camera crunching into useless plastic and wire.

“She’s recording us,” Vanessa said, her voice trembling with rage and a kind of hysterical excitement. “She’s a cop, Daniel. She’s building a case.”

Dr. Thorne didn’t wait. He snapped his bag shut, his eyes wide with panic. “I’m leaving. You assured me this was handled, Bennett.” Without another word, the fake doctor bolted for the front door and vanished down the driveway.