She looked from me to Carter, then to Vivian, who was calmly setting her teacup back on its saucer.

The porcelain made a tiny, sharp click.

“You’re going to let me take the fall,” Sloane whispered.

“We will provide you with the best defense counsel money can buy,” Vivian said.

Her tone was the same one she used when discussing the garden committee.

“But the family name must be protected.”

“The Hartwell reputation is not negotiable.”

Sloane let out a dry, rattling sob.

She looked down at the floor, where the corporate restructuring drafts lay like dead leaves.

“The family name,” she muttered.

Then, she looked up, and the panic in her eyes turned into something else.

It was the look of a cornered animal realizing which way the gate opened.

She took another step toward me, ignoring Carter entirely.

“Evelyn,” she said, her voice dropping to a rapid whisper.

“Lydia is your attorney.”

“She has connections in the Southern District.”

I watched her, waiting.

“I have the original server logs,” Sloane said, her words rushing out.

“Not the ones Carter edited for the auditors.”