“Yes, have you got your ticket?” Anita said. “You don’t want to miss that.”

“I think so…” Prachi dug in her purse, then pulled out the ticket with her left hand, which allowed Anita to squeal: “Oh, my god—can I see the ring?” She gripped my sister’s palm gleefully, staring at the ticket rather than the conflict-free diamond, memorizing the fated-to-win numbers. “It’s elegant; he did well, your man. Hey. I’ll catch you guys in a little, yeah?”

The play, beginning. I had hoped that at this moment my mind would go suddenly clear, my stomach would stop flipping, and I would automatically slide into the script, which we had so carefully written, edited, and rehearsed. But instead, I felt myself rapidly reduced to some liquid approximation of myself. I was going to fuck it up if I didn’t do something—

“Prachi,” I said. “Can I leave you here for your photo?”

I veered away and met Anita in front of the black curtain cordoning off a temporary office for her on the margins of the event. She pulled me through the drapery and reached under the metal folding table she’d set up as a desk, extracting a tote bag filled with several jewelry-crammed Ziplocs. Chidi’s forgeries, which he’d dropped at her apartment en route to an investor meeting that morning.

“Divided by vendor, right?” I pulled one up. It was labeled in Sharpie with a private code in Anita’s bubble handwriting.

Several camera lenses fell on us: beady eyes where the walls met the ceilings. Black ringed by flashing dark blue, a cop car’s lights at night.

“The Wi-Fi interferer’s working already,” Anita said softly. “I had to bring it in before they turned on the metal detectors. And the security booth guy is a nonissue. I brought him a tray full of free chai and spilled it all over the controller.” I realized her corsety top was streaked with dark stains. She pressed the tote to my chest. Her eyes were wide and her limbs trembling. I kissed her dryly on her forehead and stuffed the tote into my messenger bag.

“Let’s go,” I said. “And congrats—this is a total shitshow. I never imagined you’d be able to plan something so disorganized.”

“Thanks,” she said. She sniffed. “It ought to keep the interns busy. But I’m not sure…” She seemed to be gripped by an atmospheric agitation. “I just need to know,” she said in a brittle voice. “Like, you’re okay here, right? You’re in control?”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t get pissed. I just need to know,” she stammered, “that you remember why we’re doing this. That it’s for my mother, first and foremost. And we can talk about whether it’s a good idea for you to have some later, but my mom—”

The walkie-talkie on her desk crackled.