Last night, Lawrence called from a bar a mile up the road. He wanted me to sneak out of the hotel and meet him. When I said no, he pelted me with: You’re selfish. You’re giving up on us. You, you, you.

“You owe me an apology,” I say. “That was unfair.”

“Forgive me.” He glances in his rearview mirror. I turn around too. My brothers are both wearing headphones, and Billy’s eyes are closed. Lawrence squeezes my knee three times. For. Give. Me.

I squeeze his: I. Will. Try.

Like I said, regular morning: same argument, same non-apology. But when we see DeFiore, I know something is very wrong.

“Good tidings, Quinn family!” he says, ushering us into the conference room. “Big day today! Big day!” His too-hearty hello is jarring. So is his territorial energy, the way he paces the perimeter of the table as if establishing dominance.

“Are you okay, Peter?” I glance at Nate. He’s acting strange, right?

Very, Nate agrees with his eyes. “Why don’t you take a seat, Peter?” He pats a chair.

“I’m fine,” DeFiore says. “I’m golden.”

“Where’s Felicia?” I try to block his path, but he does an about-face. It’s so obvious it’s comical.

He doesn’t answer. That’s strange. Why is he ignoring me? I’m DeFiore’s favorite Quinn. Even when there’s tension, he’s thrilled to see me. But today there’s nothing. No flattery, no leers, no pats on the back. Just a manic lawyer making what feels like a last-ditch Hail Mary.

DeFiore looks around. “Where’s Mrs. Quinn? Is she coming?”

“Here!” Eleanor strolls in, escorted by the Bowtie, who is dapper in a cashmere scarf and camel coat. “Apologies for being late. Horrendous traffic.” She turns to her husband. “Well, you know.”

“Actually, I don’t.” Lawrence’s voice is clipped. “We got here with time to spare.”

DeFiore cuts in. “Let’s get going, shall we?” He opens his arms. “So, Quinn family. Some news: Diana Holly’s testimony was not entirely accurate. We need to set the record straight.”

“About that dinner?” I ask. “In November?”

Again, he doesn’t reply.

“Peter? You’re asking about that night?”

Studying his phone, DeFiore nods. “Among other issues.”

I should feel vindicated. I was the one who told him Diana lied. Instead, I’m sweating. My twitchiness morphs from worry into alarm.

“Is this a good idea?” Nate asks. “You don’t want to look like a bully.”

“Oh, absolutely, Nate. The goal is to cast doubt on her credibility. We have an unimpeachable example. After, we’ll proceed as planned: Lawrence will testify, then Cassie, and we’ll finish up with Billy.”

Behind me, Eleanor asks, “Are you sure about this, Peter?”

“Yeah, Ellie. I’m sure. I’m positive.”

A look passes between them.

“Ellie?” Lawrence says, confused. “Since when are you Ellie?”

* * *