“At dinner time?” Arthur asked. “From the district attorney’s office?”

Eleanor reached out, her fingers brushing the sleeve of Derek’s cashmere sweater.

“Derek, please tell your father this is a misunderstanding,” she said.

Her voice trembled, the diamonds on her fingers catching the light from the chandelier.

“It is a setup,” Derek said.

He pointed a finger at me, his hand shaking slightly.

“She did this,” he said.

I stood by the sideboard, my hands resting on the cold polished mahogany.

“I only gave them the truth, Derek,” I said.

Annika stepped forward from the shadow of the hallway.

She had her briefcase in her hand, her coat draped over her arm.

“The district attorney has had the files since four o’clock this afternoon,” Annika said.

Derek’s head snapped toward her, his jaw tightening so hard I could hear his teeth click.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked.

“I am Monica’s legal counsel,” Annika said.

She did not flinch under his stare.

“And you should know that those files contain more than just financial records,” she added.