“Pull the net” had been our code since I was a girl. We used to fish at dawn in the summers after my mother died. Sometimes we’d wait in absolute silence, watching the line, watching the current, until the right moment came. Don’t yank too early, he taught me. Let them think they’re free. Then pull the net.
At the gala, the room glittered with money and old vanity. Investors who had ruined neighborhoods stood shoulder to shoulder with politicians who claimed to protect them. Crystal chandeliers burned overhead. White-jacketed servers kept the champagne flowing. There were flowers flown in from Holland and table arrangements so elaborate they should have had their own security detail.
I sat beside Prescott at the head table and barely existed to him. He spent most of dinner laughing too hard at Adeline’s insults. Adeline wore a diamond necklace I knew had been purchased with misallocated company funds diverted from an employee benefits account. Every time those stones caught the light I saw not beauty but fraud.