“Who says he allows that?” Owen asked.
Megan opened her notebook to the events coordinator’s name. “We begin with the people who have keys.”
They made a plan, but it was not one of those satisfying schemes in which everyone knew exactly what would happen. There were uncertainties. They didn’t know who owned the evening’s recordings, whether the guests had signed releases, or how Reid would react when confronted. Owen told Megan he would not enter the restaurant to intimidate anyone. Lauren told Owen she wasn’t asking him to defend her honor. Megan said she wanted both of them to remember that she, too, would be facing her husband.
At seven-twenty-five, Lauren took off her coat and changed from high heels into ordinary black boots. When she came downstairs, Owen was waiting by the door. The separation agreement remained unsigned on the table.
“I’m not tearing it up,” he said before she could speak.
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“Good.” He reached for his car keys. “Then we can deal with tonight without pretending it fixes tomorrow.”
Chapter Four: The Side Entrance
Reid’s restaurant occupied a converted brick warehouse near the old freight station. The front windows glowed amber through the drizzle. A valet in a gray jacket was guiding arriving guests beneath a canopy. Inside, people were already holding drinks. The building looked exactly like the kind of place where a life might be reinvented by candlelight, provided somebody else washed the dishes afterward.
They parked behind a hardware store two blocks away. Megan called the events coordinator, a young woman named Priya Santos, and asked her to step outside by the delivery entrance. Priya arrived with a headset hanging around her neck and a clipboard pressed against her chest.
“Megan?” she said. “I thought you were at home.”
“That’s what Reid hoped. Priya, I need you to meet Lauren Ellis. She is tonight’s guest of honor. She didn’t know she was a guest of honor.”
Priya stared at Lauren, then at Owen. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I,” Lauren answered. “Reid invited me for a private dinner. He didn’t tell me there were tickets, a microphone, or a presentation about leaving my marriage.”
The headset crackled. Someone inside asked Priya to check the placement of the chairs. Priya switched it off. “He said you were excited. He said your husband knew about the event and supported it.”
Owen spoke for the first time. “I found out twenty minutes ago.”
Priya’s clipboard lowered. “We have a rehearsal at seven-forty. Two videographers arrive at seven-fifty. What do you want me to do?”
“Tell us what you’ve been instructed to do,” Megan said.
Priya led them inside through the kitchen, where trays of roasted vegetables waited under silver covers and a line cook was tasting a sauce. She took them to a small office behind the pantry. On a whiteboard someone had written the evening’s order: Welcome, origin story, the choice, reunion, invitation to the next chapter. A handwritten note beside the last phrase said: Bring out the blue dress.
