Her ex-husband paraded his mistress at the restaurant where they were celebrating their anniversary, then she left with a $10 million ring given to her by her worst rival

Because Ryan had always confused cruelty with strategy.

“Elie,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I need a conference room.”

“You have one.”

“And a printer.”

“You have six.”

“And coffee.”

“That,” said Elijah, “will be terrible. But possible.”

They went inside.

At 1:15 a.m., Ava sat at a glass conference table overlooking Manhattan, her coat neatly folded on a chair, the $10 million ring shining under the fluorescent light, and every piece of Ryan Mercer’s life laid out before her in labeled piles.

Elie was standing by the window, on the phone with London.

Her lawyer, Helena Cho, arrived at 1:32 p.m., wearing a camel coat over pajamas and sporting the expression of a woman who billed in six-minute increments even while sleeping.

Ava liked it immediately.

Helena placed a leather bag on the table and looked at the ring.

“All the better,” she said. “He’ll overreact.”

“He’s already done it,” Ava said, sliding Patricia’s text message across the table.

Helena read it once.

His gaze sharpened.

“Threat?”

“Be careful,” said Ava. “Maybe both.”

Helen looked at Elijah.

Elijah ended his call.

“Patricia Mercer was married to Conrad Mercer,” he said. “Conrad was one of the founding partners of Hartwell.”

Ava remained motionless.

She knew that name.

Conrad Mercer.

Dead for fourteen years.

Ryan’s father.

A carefully written obituary.

Boards of directors of charitable organizations.