“Put that specific cup of chicken broth into a clean plastic bag immediately,” Luke told her. “Do not wash it under any circumstances, because it’s vital forensic evidence.”

Our private driver was waiting outside. The Los Angeles night air was cool, and the distant city lights shone bright, like a wound across the landscape.

Inside the speeding car, Luke calmly made three separate phone calls.

“Uncle Raymond, activate the secure backup video feed right now,” Luke said on the first. “Yes, make sure the national media outlets get the stream too.

Mr. Davis, have the legal agreement ready. Mr. Garrison, in exactly twenty minutes you’ll understand why my mother didn’t arrive at the gala on time.”

I looked at my son with wonder. “How long have you been planning this, Luke?”