Flanking me in the mirrored elevator were two off-duty police officers, hired for the day as security; a sharp-eyed investigative journalist from a local news outlet, who had been following stories on financial and coercive abuse and had found mine very much to her interest; and Darcy herself, in a suit sharper than mine, gripping a thick leather folder that held every document we had filed that morning.

And behind us, wheeled onto a hand truck by two hired movers, rode the two enormous, heavily duct-taped cardboard boxes.

The elevator rose.

I watched the floor numbers climb, and I felt the cold clear thing in my chest settle into something almost like serenity.

It was, at last, time to serve the birthday banquet.

Chapter 10 — The Penthouse