My mother-in-law warned me not to embarrass the family when my husband brought his wealthy new girlfriend to dinner.

“Caroline, stop this instant!” Diane commanded, scurrying over to block the front door. Her face was flushed crimson beneath her heavy makeup. “You cannot do this to my son! Think of our reputation! Think of what this will do to the family!”

“Your family is built on counterfeit paper and arrogance, Diane,” I replied, pulling on my wool coat.

“You think you’re so righteous?” Diane hissed, her aristocratic facade completely melting away, revealing the desperate, vicious woman underneath. “You were an orphan with a pile of dirty commercial warehouses! We gave you social standing! Marcus gave you purpose! Without us, you’re just a lonely woman sitting in an empty house!”

“I’d rather be lonely in an empty house than an accomplice in federal prison,” I said.

Marcus was leaning against the foyer table now, clutching his head in his hands. His breathing was shallow, ragged. “Caroline… please. We can fix this. We can talk to Liam Vance. We can restructure the loan without Priscilla. Just don’t go to the authorities. If the fraud charge goes public, the bank will call in the five-million-dollar bridge loan on the residential tower. I’ll be bankrupt by Friday.”

“You are already bankrupt, Marcus,” I said, looking down at him with genuine pity. “Morally, financially, and spiritually.”

“I’ll leave her!” he blurted out, looking up at me with tears welling in his eyes—pathetic, theatrical tears. “I’ll never speak to Priscilla again! I swear to God, Caroline! It was just business! She was just a conduit to the Adair family fund! I never loved her!”

The front door suddenly clicked open from the outside.

We all turned. Standing on the porch, illuminated by the porch lights, was Priscilla Adair.

She hadn’t left. She was holding a slim leather folder, her phone pressed against her shoulder.

“Fascinating,” Priscilla said, lowering her phone. “And here I was thinking you were just a charming entrepreneur with bad cash flow. Turns out you’re an amateur sociopath.”

Diane gasped. “Priscilla! You… you were listening?”

“Every word,” Priscilla replied smoothly, stepping back inside the foyer. Her gaze cut directly to Marcus, utterly devoid of warmth. “My father didn’t just halt the wire, Marcus. He pulled the credit lines we extended to your father’s company three years ago. The entire Adair syndicate is triggering an immediate default audit.”

Marcus fell to his knees beside the entryway table. “Priscilla, please… let me explain. My mother—”

“Don’t blame your mother for your forgery,” Priscilla cut him off sharply. Then, to everyone’s shock, she turned her eyes toward me.

“Caroline,” Priscilla said, her tone professional, respectful, and razor-sharp. “My driver is outside. Would you care to join me for a drink? I believe you and I have a great deal of paperwork to compare.”

I looked at Priscilla, then at Marcus sobbing on the Persian rug, and finally at Diane, whose mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“I’d love to,” I said.