Julian's attorney arrived within the hour.

He was a compact man in a Sunday suit who clearly had not expected to be called before eight in the morning, and whose expression, when Claire's team showed him the folder Julian had left on the dining room table, shifted from professional composure to something much quieter.

"I'll need a moment with my client," he said.

"Of course," Claire said.

Julian sat at the dining room table.

His attorney leaned down and spoke into his ear for approximately ninety seconds.

Julian's face moved through several expressions in that time.

Disbelief.

Calculation.

Something that might have been the beginning of fear.

Then his attorney straightened up.

"My client would like to discuss the possibility of cooperation," he said.

Victoria, from the kitchen doorway, made a sharp sound.

"Julian," she said.

"Don't."

"Ms.

Mercer," one of Claire's colleagues said, "I need to ask you to remain in the kitchen, please."

"He is my son —"

"I understand.

Kitchen, please."

The door closed.

I sat at the far end of the table with my coffee and watched Julian Mercer understand, one piece at a time, that the structure he had built his confidence on was no longer holding any weight.

"The judge," Julian said, to no one in particular.

"Did you get to him?"

"That's not something I can discuss with you," Claire said.

"He's going to run.

If he knows you have the Meridian documents —"

"Mr.

Mercer." Claire's voice was even.

"Your cooperation is noted.

But I need you to focus on your own situation right now."

Julian looked across the table at me.

"How long?" he said.

"How long were you working with them?"

"Since Sunday morning," I said.

He laughed.

It was not a happy sound.

"You came back.

You sat at my table.

You let me show you the folder."

"You left it out," I said.

"I didn't ask you to."

He shook his head slowly.

"The other women," I said.

"The eleven before me.

Did any of them figure it out?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"One," he said.

"She left on the second day.

We told her the marriage was a mistake and gave her money to go away."

"And the others stayed long enough to be useful."

He didn't answer.

That was its own answer.

Claire's team worked through the morning.

Robert Mercer arrived voluntarily at ten o'clock, with his own attorney, and was taken into a separate room.

Gerald Howe's name was passed to a federal contact Claire had been in conversation with for three weeks.

Dennis Farr, the former Hargrove employee on the signatory list, was located by early afternoon.

The judge — the sixth name on the list — resigned from the bench by four o'clock that same day.

The announcement cited personal health reasons.

No one in the room believed that, but it was noted.

By five o'clock, Julian had signed a cooperation agreement.

Victoria had not.

She sat in the kitchen for four hours with her attorney and said almost nothing.

When she finally emerged, she looked at me once across the hallway.

"I want you to know," she said, "that I don't regret any of it."

"I know," I said.

"You were supposed to be manageable."

"I know that too."

She looked at me for one more moment.

Then she walked out the front door with her attorney beside her.

I watched her go.

Claire appeared at my shoulder.

"She'll cooperate eventually," she said.

"They always do, once the attorneys explain the alternative."

"What happens to Julian?"

"Federal charges.

Fraud, conspiracy, possibly more depending on what the judge's records show.

His attorney will negotiate.

He'll serve time." She paused.

"Robert's situation is more complicated.

He came forward voluntarily and he's providing significant documentation.

That will matter."

"And Gerald Howe?"

"Gerald Howe," Claire said carefully, "is going to have a very difficult year."

I nodded.

I picked up my suitcase from beside the stairs where I had left it the day before.

"The check," I said.

"Is yours," Claire said.

"Uncontested.

I have the documentation if anyone ever asks."

I carried the suitcase to the front door.

"Elena." Claire's voice stopped me.

I turned.

"You did well," she said.

"In there.

All of it."

I thought about the dish towel.

The cold dishwater on my cheek.

Julian's voice announcing that I was not a princess.

Victoria's smile in the doorway.

"I had a good teacher," I said.

Claire almost smiled again.

I walked out.