Lying in the ER bay, the IV delivering a rush of narcotic warmth, I used my good hand to type a text.

Emergency. ER Bay 4. Bring your iPad. It’s time.

I sent it to Diana. Not just my oldest friend — a senior partner at one of the most formidable corporate litigation firms in Los Angeles, a woman who took apart Fortune 500 companies for a living.

Twenty minutes later the curtain ripped back. Diana stood there in a charcoal suit, taking in the plaster cast and the sling on my left arm, her face hardening into cold fury.

“Tell me who did this,” she said quietly, closing the curtain.

“Check the secure cloud link I just emailed you,” I whispered. “Kitchen camera. 4:15.”