PART 2: Nobody moved to pick it up.

For three seconds, the only sound inside Archer & Vale was Lily’s soft crying and the faint jazz coming from the private dining room speakers. The blue crayon rolled from the child’s hand, bounced once against the white tablecloth, and came to rest near Governor Evelyn Pierce’s black clutch. Claire Bennett stood with one cheek burning, her lip bleeding, and her mother’s fingerprints blooming red around her arm.

Charles Bennett looked as though someone had pulled the floor out from under his polished shoes. His sixtieth birthday dinner had been arranged with military precision: the best steakhouse in Richmond, a $38,000 private room minimum, imported orchids, a seven-tier bourbon chocolate cake, and a guest list designed to prove that the Bennetts were still one of Virginia’s untouchable families. Now the governor of Virginia was standing in the middle of that room, accusing his wife of assault and praising the daughter he had spent seven years pretending did not exist.

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