Mina Shah was my attorney.

She was already driving toward Lumina when Gavin appeared in the kitchen.

“Camilla?”

I looked up from plating halibut.

“There are a lot of women at the host stand.”

“How many?”

“Thirty-nine.”

I walked out.

Beatrice stood beneath the brass entry lights wearing cream silk, oversized sunglasses and a smile I had learned to distrust.

Behind her were thirty-eight women ranging from perhaps forty-five to almost eighty.

Designer handbags.

Pearls.

Diamond bracelets.

Expensive shoes.

Beatrice spread her arms.

“Surprise!”

I stared at her.

“We don’t have a reservation.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. This is family.”

She turned to the women.

“My daughter-in-law gets so serious about her reservation book.”

A few laughed.

Gavin leaned toward me.

“Should I tell them we can’t accommodate them?”

I looked at Beatrice.

Then I looked at the women.

And something caught my eye.

A navy folder under one woman’s arm.

Stamped in gold:

FOUNDERS CIRCLE.

My blood turned to ice.

These weren’t Beatrice’s friends.

Or not only her friends.

These were the investors.

“No,” I said.

Gavin blinked.

“No?”

“Seat them.”

“All thirty-nine?”

I looked straight at Beatrice.

“All of them.”

Beatrice smiled triumphantly.

She thought she had won before lunch began.

“Private room,” she said.

“No,” I replied.

Her smile faltered.

“The main dining room.”

“I prefer private.”

“I don’t.”

For two seconds we stared at each other.

Then she laughed.

“Fine.”

We combined several tables near the west windows.

Beatrice immediately began removing reserved signs herself.

“Ladies, sit anywhere.”

She ordered the chef’s tasting menu without asking the price.

Then wagyu supplements.

Oysters.

Caviar.

Truffles.

And wine.

So much wine.

One bottle became four.

Four became nine.

When Gavin quietly showed me the running total, it had crossed $9,000 before the main courses.

“Do we stop them?”

“No.”

“Camilla—”

“Everything they order.”

He stared at me.

“Why?”

“Because today I want Beatrice completely comfortable.”

By dessert, the bill was $18,746.

And Beatrice had become very comfortable.

Comfortable enough to tell everyone Lucas was having an affair.

Comfortable enough to admit he was using Lumina’s money.

Comfortable enough to say something even more important.

A woman named Patricia asked, “When does Coronado break ground?”

Beatrice dabbed her mouth.

“Soon.”

My body went still.

Another woman asked, “And La Jolla?”

“We’re waiting on permits.”

I stepped toward the table.

“Permits for what?”

Silence fell.

Beatrice turned.

For the first time all afternoon, she looked startled.

“Camilla.”

“What permits?”

A woman near me smiled uncertainly.

“For the expansion.”

I looked at her.

“What expansion?”

The smile disappeared.

Beatrice stood.

“Camilla, perhaps you should return to the kitchen.”

Nobody moved.

I pulled out the empty chair beside her and sat down.

“No. I think I’d like to hear about my expansion.”