Dust the library.
Don’t wait up.
And then, with a laugh designed to bruise and disguise itself as humor, “You’re getting huge, Viv. Like a whale. Don’t waddle too much.”
Seven months pregnant, and he had not touched her belly once.
Not once.
Her phone buzzed again.
PATRICIA: Added forgery packet. Henderson wants FBI liaison copied tonight.
Vivien called Benedict Ashford.
He answered on the first ring. “Madam.”
He always called her that when they were working, although outside the structure of business he had long ago become something close to family. Benedict Ashford had one of those English voices that sounded as if it had been educated by walnut-paneled rooms and expensive disappointment. He was chief executive of the private London bank that managed most of the Sinclair architecture, and one of the few people in the world who knew exactly how much Vivien owned, where it was sheltered, and how quickly it could move.
“Kill the leak,” Vivien said.
“It will vanish,” Benedict replied. “I’ve already isolated the board member.”
“Good. Add the forged loan to Henderson’s packet. Everything. Federal angles included.”
“Already underway.”
Vivien let silence hold for a second. Then she said, more quietly, “How does the room look?”
“Full. Hungry. Bored. Perfect.”
“Any sign Preston suspects?”
“None.”
Of course not. Men like Preston rarely suspected the existence of plans that did not originate in their own heads.
Vivien ended the call and dialed Ruth Washington.
Ruth answered before the first full ring. “Tell me you’re not backing out.”
“I’m not backing out.”
“Good.”
“But I need you there,” Vivien said. “Not as my friend. As my witness. Stay near the exit. If something goes wrong, I need one person in that room who actually knows who I am.”
Ruth’s voice softened. “I’m already in the car.”
Vivien laughed once, a small surprised breath.
“And Viv,” Ruth added, “you’re allowed to be scared.”
“I am scared.”
“That’s fine,” Ruth said. “Brave people are scared all the time. Cowards are just louder.”
Vivien hung up and set the phone down.
Then, very carefully, she reached for the dress.
Years earlier, before there was a husband to dismantle, before there was a secret room or a forged signature or a mistress in a red dress, there had been a diner in Dayton and a funeral and the end of one life so complete it made room for another.