The doorbell rang again, louder this time.

I looked past Arthur and saw the headlights of three more cars pulling into our driveway.

Among them was the sleek black sedan belonging to Richard Lindell, Derek’s managing partner.

The trap was set, and the guests were beginning to walk right through the door.

My phone vibrated in my left pocket, a single, sharp buzz.

I reached down with my good hand and slipped it out, checking the screen under the shadow of the entryway table.

It was a text from Annika.

The text from Annika was brief.

*Courier is parked down the street. We go live at nine. Keep him smiling.*

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and smoothed down the front of my silk dress.

“Everything all right, darling?” Derek asked, his voice low and tight near my ear.

“Just the caterer’s assistant confirming the wine delivery,” I said, offering him a serene smile.

He nodded, his grip on my waist relaxing by a fraction of an inch.

The front door opened again, letting in a blast of freezing winter air and the sound of laughter.