The night passed slowly, the silence of the house broken only by the occasional creak of the timbers as the temperature dropped outside.

The next morning, the sun did not rise so much as the sky simply turned a pale, watery gray.

Caroline was already downstairs when I entered the kitchen, sitting at the oak table with her laptop open.

A mug of black tea sat near her elbow, steam rising in a thin, twisting line.

“He agreed to come at seven tonight,” she said without looking up from the screen. “He sounded pleased.”

“Did he say if he was bringing his lawyer?” I asked, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

“No,” she said, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “He said he wanted it to be just us. He thinks he can handle you and me on his own.”

“He always did underestimate this family,” I said, sitting opposite her.

She closed the laptop with a soft click and looked at me.

“I have set up the phone,” she said. “It will be sitting on the side table, next to the lamp, disguised as a charging station.”