She had multiple homes, servants, gowns, shoes, jewelry, and she had all those nevers, never having to earn a dime, do a budget, pay a bill, pass up a sparkly for a necessity, and never go without. But she was but a possession to Grigor God Voloshin. A bauble, a bangle, at best a Fabergé egg. Prized. Displayed. But unable to live by her feelings. It was degradation. Sad, tragic, piteous, wretched. The old vinyl recording playing the song in my head had a scratch and the needle started to jump making repetitions, “a bird in a gilded cage”—screech—“bird in a gilded cage”—screech—“bird in a gilded cage”—screech.

God was a tyrant. Cruel. Unjust. Given to rages. A drunk. With thugs. Enforcers. He called them “security personnel.” Kaylee was constantly on the verge of terror, but knew stress ruins beauty, both short-term and long, creating wrinkles as surely as smoking. She needed to have Leo, her beautiful, wonderful son. She needed Leo to be an American. She needed to leave God. She dared not. He would kill her.

“We can fix this,” Elizabeth said. Sounding as certain of her own notion of justice as Sergeant Joe Friday in Dragnet, from when television screens had rounded corners and everything was made right, in black-and-white, in twenty-six minutes.

“Can you?” Kaylee asked, the tiniest light of hope in her eyes.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, then cued Madelaine, “Tell her.”

Maddie came forward, reciting, “I had a life much like yours. I, too, was a prisoner, wedded to the warden. My children were his hostages, as your Leo is for you. I know that sadness, that fear, that hopeless feeling when you think there’s no way out. But there is one. With their help”—she pointed to Elizabeth and me—“we found the way.”

“And that is…” Kaylee asked, though I expected she’d already been told.

“That is…” Elizabeth spoke, quite rightly not trusting Madelaine to do so, “to eliminate the problem.”

“Eliminate?” Kaylee asked.

“Yes. Eliminate. Remove,” Elizabeth said. “Then you will be free. To be with your son. To be the mother you wish to be. To return to your own country. And, of course, to inherit that fortune.”

“Can you really?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “This is the man who can make it happen.” It was time for me to recite my lines. Elizabeth looked and suddenly knew that I’d say the wrong thing or not speak at all, so quick as a wink, she said, “Isn’t he, Maddie?”

“He did it for me,” Maddie said. “My husband is…he passed on. The police ruled that it was an accident. There is no question that it was…an accident. He can do it for you. I know he can.”