“This is your necklace. We bought it back from the person we sold it to.”

A grateful little gasp escaped Daisy’s lips as she opened the envelope and tipped the gold chain and pendant into her outstretched palm.

“And the rest?” Susan asked. Pleased as she was that the irreplaceable item had been replaced, Daisy had given the Brethren a lot more than that.

Jasper and Elise exchanged worried looks. This time it was Jasper who spoke.

“Look. We tried . . .”

“Not good enough.”

“I know. Just listen—”

Susan uncrossed her arms and stood to lean over the table, so close that she could feel Jasper’s panicked little breaths tickling her skin.

“I believe I made our terms clear.”

Susan sat back down. Waiting.

Slowly, watching Susan as a French nobleman might eye a barely tethered guillotine, Jasper nudged Elise, who passed him an unremarkable brown envelope.

“We couldn’t get everything back.” Jasper held the envelope out. “So we’re compensating you in cash.”

“Esther. Please count it.”

Snatching the envelope, Esther thumbed through the contents twice and let out a low whistle before confirming, “One hundred and seventy-five pounds.”

Susan didn’t break eye contact. A trickle of sweat worked its way from Jasper’s hairline all the way to his left eyebrow. He swallowed.

“How about we make it an even two hundred?” he croaked.

Susan nodded. Once.

The transaction complete, Susan finally averted her gaze, breaking her eye lock with Jasper, who listed sideways onto Elise.

“You may go,” Susan told them. “I believe you have a few more people who need compensating.”

The two final-year students stood, Elise giving them a mutinous glare, a protective hand resting on Jasper’s shoulder as if he were the victim in all this.

Before they took another step, however, Esther blurted out, “Why’d you do it? I mean, the gowns and the cookies and belt system. It was so . . . organized.”

Elise brightened. “You were impressed?”

Giving Daisy a guilty look, Esther said, “Well . . . only in the same way I’m impressed that U2 still have a career. Reluctantly.”

“Look. I’ll be honest with you. It was for the CV.” When the three of them failed to respond, Elise leaned across the table, a gleam of desperation in her eye. “Do you know how tough the job market is? A Philosophy degree means almost nothing to potential employers, but how many other graduates can put ‘founded a profit-making yogic cult’ on their job applications?”

“Hopefully very few!” Esther said in alarm.

This time it was Jasper who was settling Elise, tugging the strap of her handbag as if to pull her away. “Leave it, El. They’re only freshmen. They’ll understand when the time comes . . .”

Once they were gone, Esther reached into the envelope and pulled out all the notes, fanning them out like playing cards, her eyes alight with joy.

“Two. Hundred. Pounds. Do you know what this means?”