The iron gates of the estate swung open, and the car rolled into a stone courtyard framed by terraced gardens and still reflecting pools.

I stepped out onto the loggia, where two people were already waiting with tablets and leather folders.

“Welcome home, Ms.

Fairbrook,” said Ijeoma Ballantyne, my chief legal officer.

Her pinstriped suit was as sharp as her reputation, which was considerable and unkind to the people it was pointed at.

“We’ve begun the first phase of your instructions.”