Father did not move, but I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten.

“I do not know any Robert Vance,” he said.

“You do,” I said. “He is the senior partner at Vance & Associates.”

Mother gasped, her hand flying to her throat where her diamond pendant rested.

“Maya, please,” Mother whispered, looking around the patio to see if any of our guests were watching.

Most of the partygoers were still near the lawn, laughing over the sound of the music.

But here, by the edge of the deep end, the air felt freezing despite the summer heat.

“Robert Vance is a criminal defense attorney,” Father said, stepping closer to me.

His leather loafers clicked against the wet slate tiles of the patio.

“He is,” I said. “And as of ten minutes ago, he is my legal representative.”

Father let out a short, harsh laugh that did not reach his eyes.

“With what money?” Father asked. “You do not have a dollar that I did not put in your account.”

“I did not need money to get him to take my case,” I said. “I only needed to show him the files.”