During my birthday party, my mother-in-law leaned over and quietly told my husband something. I noticed his face change before I even had a chance to respond. (3 of 3)

“I wanted to surprise everyone,” I replied, matching her smile. “Even a birthday girl has to keep people guessing.”

Her eyes flickered—just for an instant, I saw real emotion there—then they snapped back into place. She led me through the crowd, introducing me to dignitaries and donors. Not one friend from law school was here, not a single person who truly knew me; Victoria had scrubbed the guest list clean.

I drifted closer to a group where William Harrington, the family’s fixer, was chatting with Thomas Whitley, the “therapist.” Will raised his glass and said, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Then he and Whitley moved behind a column, voices low but urgent.

I edged nearer.

“The trust schedule can’t wait any longer,” Will was saying. “We need to finalize things this week.”

Whitley shook his head. “Rushing the conditioning could backfire—he’s unstable as it is.”

“We have no choice,” Will snapped.

They saw me then and turned, slipping effortlessly into polite smiles. Whitley extended his hand. “Happy birthday, Mrs. Harrington. You look radiant tonight.”

“Thank you, Dr. Whitley,” I replied. “How long has it been since you worked with James—fifteen years?”

Inside, I felt the last pieces click together. My time to strike was at hand.