Myra heard the dogs yapping as cars pulled into the driveway. Alexis, Nikki, and Maggie had arrived, followed by Yoko and Isabelle. Kathryn was scheduled to haul something or other to North Carolina and would catch up with them later.

Annie was in the kitchen, inspecting the lunch Charles had prepared: grilled salmon with wilted greens. Simple. Dinner would be a different story.

Hugs all around, lots of dog petting, and the women marched into the kitchen to fix their own plates. Sitting around the large wood-planked kitchen table, which overlooked the terrace, they spoke about some of the more interesting things happening in the world and their lives. Yoko was providing the plants for the landscaper working on the latest building complex Isabelle had designed; Isabelle was continuing to hone her hacking abilities, though she knew she would never be as good as Abner; Maggie was investigating the latest administration scandal while juggling the daily crush of political news; and Alexis and Nikki had just finished suing a fast-food chain for a pattern of discrimination against African Americans. With no big cases on their plate, it was a good time for them to catch up on paperwork. All in all, their lives were moving at an abnormally normal pace. But they knew all that was about to change.

After finishing up their lunch, the girls took their plates to the counter, scraped any leftovers into a bowl, and placed them in the dishwasher. They all had their own assignments, and the kitchen was spick and span in thirteen minutes.

They descended the dimly lit stone steps, entered the war room, and saluted Lady Justice.

Myra began the meeting. “As you know, Charlotte is visiting us for a stay of indeterminate length. Part of the reason, actually most of the reason, is that I received a very disturbing letter from her a little over a week ago. She had been feeling ‘foggy,’ as she put it, and lethargic, almost depressed. She was seeing a doctor in Aspen who runs a clinic called Live-Life-Long. A Dr. Harold Steinwood. Evidently, he and two other doctors run similar clinics, and when Charlotte told Steinwood she was going to London, he insisted she see one of his partners, Dr. Julian Marcus—”

“Live-Life-Long?” Maggie interrupted.

“Yes. You’ve heard of them?”

“About a year ago, a woman in Sagaponack, New York, who had been in their program, died of an overdose. Another woman outside Aspen went into convulsions and slipped into a coma, but no evidence connecting the treatment to the convulsions could be found. And as far as the overdose is concerned, they believe that the woman took it deliberately, that she committed suicide. Family said she had been despondent.”

“Was there a suicide note?” Alexis asked.