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Hartfield was the most fiercely guarded home in the county.

Gaining admission to Hartfield was no small feat. Its owner, a local crime lord named Mr. Woodhouse, had turned it into a veritable fortress over the years, for he had an intense fear of assassination. Every window had alarms and electronic locks upon it.

The house was surrounded by a high electric fence topped with barbed wire. The only entrance was guarded at all times. All visitors must be approved, even on a day like today when there were many. Security cameras surveyed every inch of the property.

Most days only those known to the family for years were admitted. But today was the wedding of Anne Taylor, the Woodhouse’s household manager, and said wedding, along with its subsequent celebration, could only be held at Hartfield. And so everyone connected with the Woodhouse clan, whether a relative or an employee or simply a friend, must submit to the security screening, background checks, and metal detectors which were essential to Mr. Woodhouse’s sense of security.

The wedding was lovely, and now while others enjoyed the reception, Mr. Woodhouse retired with his daughter and his consigliere, Mr. Knightley, to his study to receive those who required a private word.

On this day many people wished to speak with Mr. Woodhouse. Or rather, with his daughter, who had in practice been running the family business for several years now. But she did so sitting at her father’s right hand, leaving him a secure position as figurehead.

The first petitioner was shown in by Perry, Mr. Woodhouse’s bodyguard, the last checkpoint before anyone was admitted to Mr. Woodhouse’s presence.

Emma Woodhouse had never seen the young woman before, but was at once disposed to like her. She was pretty, with an open friendly manner and soft blue eyes that regarded Emma quite earnestly. The girl was silent for the first few moments after entering, taking in the fine furnishings of the study, the mahogany desk and marble globe and shelves well stocked with books, both reference needed for the Woodhouse family business and the works of literature Mr. Woodhouse loved.

Emma indulgently let the girl marvel for a moment. Clearly she was unused to fine things, but had an unerring natural taste that allowed her to appreciate them given the opportunity.

When the silence threatened to become awkward, and Knightley was beginning to make his ironic face at her, Emma spoke. “And your name is?” She smiled gently at the young woman to encourage her.

“Oh! Harriet Smith. I work at Goddard’s,” she explained, naming a bar owned by the Woodhouse Corporation. “I’m sorry to bother you on a day like today, but I had to tell you as soon as I found out.”

“Found out what?”

“Well. I’m sure you know that some people meet at Goddard’s to transact… business of their own.”

Emma did know that. Those people were also in her employ, albeit unofficially.

“But I have reason to think… that some of their product is… not good.”

Emma sat up very straight. Knightley had tensed and was all attention.

“You don’t mean….”

Harriet swallowed. “Two of them, I think they’re mixing that fentanyl stuff in.”

Emma was incensed. “Do you know their names?”

“One is called George Wickham. He’s quite handsome and charming—I think he’s a little too charming, do you know what I mean?”

“I do, I’ve met that sort. Who else?”

“A John Thorpe. He’s stout, of middling height, not nearly so handsome as his friend. He’s a bit rude.”

“I think I know them,” Knightley said through gritted teeth. “We’ll look into it, and if that’s happening we’ll put a stop to it.”

“Harriet, thank you so much for bringing this to my attention. I won’t have that going on in our territory. Please, join the party now and enjoy yourself.”

Harriet bit her lip, gratified, and scurried out. Emma looked at Knightley, who said, “I’ll go to Goddard’s tomorrow night and investigate.”

“Be sure to take some lads with you,” Mr. Woodhouse said, anxious. “These people may be unscrupulous.”

“I dare say they might.”

Their next visitor was Mr. Cole, who with his wife ran a profitable contracting business. They were not Woodhouse employees, but valued associates. Cole Contracting had done a great deal of work for the Woodhouses and others over the years.

After Mr. Cole was finished with his congratulations to the newlyweds and praise of the fine reception in progress, he got to business. “Some months ago we completed renovations on an apartment building owned by a Mr. Donaldson. You may have heard of him?”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Few have not. He courts media attention at every turn.”

“Yes, well. He hasn’t paid for the work we did, besides the original deposit. We’ve initiated a lawsuit, but his lawyers are stalling us in every way possible, trying to pressure us into settling out of court. So we started making inquiries, and it turns out this Donaldson makes a habit of this. He has years of unpaid bills and measly settlements behind him. A cabinet making firm and a dishwasher installation company both went out of business because they couldn’t eat the costs of the work they did for him and the materials they bought for it when he didn’t pay. But what can we do? He has a ferocious team of lawyers and he goes to dinner parties with judges.” Mr. Cole stopped, trying to control his anger.

Emma sat for a few seconds, considering, her lips pressed together. Then she picked up her phone and tapped the screen for a few moments. “Speaking of dinner parties, Mr. Cole, we’re giving one on Wednesday evening. May we count on the pleasure of your company and Mrs. Cole’s?”

For a few seconds, Mr. Cole looked taken aback at this pleasantry.

Then he understood. She was giving him an alibi.

“We would be delighted.”

“We’ll see you at seven, then. And I will look into this matter personally, I assure you. Cole Contracting has done so much good work for us over the years. I would hate for the company to suffer.”

Mr. Cole thanked her effusively and left. Once the door was shut, the three exchanged glances. 

“Put the Price boys on this. They won’t get carried away.” On Wednesday evening, two or three of the Price boys would apply their fists to Mr. Donaldson until he authorized the transfer of the money he owed the Coles.

“So we’re to have a dinner party?” Mr. Woodhouse asked, cheerful at the prospect of company unlikely to include potential assassins.

“We are now.”

Their next visitor was familiar to all of them. Ms. Lambe had capably managed their restaurant, Serle’s, for several years. She was divorced with a son about to graduate from high school.

It was about this son that she wished to speak. “Carl’s a good boy, never been in any kind of trouble, but he was out with his friends, not bothering anybody, and some cop needed to feel big, so he made up some excuse to search the boys, and Carl and one other boy, well, they had a little marijuana.”

Emma nodded, unfazed. “We were all teenagers once.”

Ms. Lambe swallowed. “Their court date is next week. The thing is, I did some research on the judge, and he’s….”

Emma rose and came to sit beside Ms. Lambe, putting a hand on hers. “How can I help?”

“I was hoping one of your lawyers could represent him. The judge is one of those who, who’s apt to sentence a black boy to fifteen years for having two joints in his pocket.” Ms. Lambe clenched her fists, trying to stay calm.

Emma’s eyes flashed. “We’ll see about that. Of course my law firm will represent your boy. Not only have you been an excellent employee, it’s the principle of the thing!” She patted Ms. Lambe’s hand, reassuring even though her anger was still evident. “Try not to worry. Oh, and tell me the judge’s name?”

“John Norris. I have all the papers here.”

“Excellent.” Emma took them and leafed through them. “Ms. Lambe, I promise you. I’ve been fortunate to have a great deal of privilege in my life. I will use it when opportunity arises to stop an injustice! My lawyer will be there next week.” She waved away what Ms. Lambe was beginning to say. “Please don’t thank me. It’s too awful that you have to worry about this at all. Any decent person would give you whatever help they could.” She paused. “Your son is graduating this spring, isn’t he? What are his plans?”

“He got a partial scholarship.”

Emma made a mental note to arrange for the boy to receive a full scholarship—through several intermediaries, so the Lambes would not feel indebted. She often did this for the offspring of her employees. “If he wants a summer job, well, you know our enterprises. If he’s anything like you we’ll be fortunate to have him in any of our stores or restaurants.”

Ms. Lambe started to thank Emma again, stopped herself, and smiled. “You’ve been good employers, all these years. And this is a lovely reception.”

“Why don’t you join us for our dinner party on Wednesday? It will just be a few friends.”

Ms. Lambe agreed and was shown out.

“Please find Mr. Elton,” Emma told Perry after Ms. Lambe had been shown out. Then to Knightley, “After the hearing, remind me to send Carl Lambe to one of our doctors so he can get a medical marijuana prescription.”

“For what?”

“I’m sure they’ll think of something.”

He chuckled, then turned grave. “That must have been so hard for Ms. Lambe.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a respectable woman, law-abiding, honest, industrious, and she has to come to beg a woman half her age to rescue her son.”

Emma frowned, troubled. “I suppose so,” she said slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that. How awful for her!”

“But you’ve been so kind to her, my dear,” her father soothed.

“I shouldn’t have to be that kind. Now I feel dreadful.”

“Cheer yourself, Emma! Knightley and I do not want you to be downcast.”

“No, but we would not like her so well as we do if she were not.”

Mr. Elton’s entrance brought a halt to that line of conversation. “Mr. Woodhouse, Miss Woodhouse, Mr. Knightley! I was waiting on my chance to speak with you, so your summons is most fortuitous.”

“Speak with us? What may we help you with?”

“Oh, all of my needs are being met these days.” Mr. Elton gave Emma a cloying smile. “No, I merely wished to pay my respects, to offer my good wishes, and to compliment you, Miss Woodhouse, on how well you have planned the wedding and reception. You are most capable, Miss Woodhouse, at everything that you do.”

Pleased, Emma replied, “Thank you ever so much, Mr. Elton. First, if you’re free on Wednesday, would you join us here for a dinner party? You’re welcome to bring a date.”

“How very kind of you to invite me! Alas, I’m not seeing anyone at present, but I would very much like to be there.” Mr. Elton looked sad for a fleeting moment before pasting his smile back on. Emma noticed. The poor man was in want of a wife.

“Then we’ll expect you at seven. Now, the specific matter I wished to speak to you about is a case I want your firm to handle for us.” She handed him the papers Ms. Lambe had left and explained Carl Lambe’s plight. “Do you know anything about this Judge Norris?”

Mr. Elton looked grave. “He has a reputation, as Ms. Lambe said. You are right to be concerned for the boy. It is so kind of you to do so much for others! Miss Woodhouse, I assure you that I will handle these cases personally rather than leaving them to one of our other attorneys.” He hesitated. “But I should warn you, Judge Norris is known for being stern and difficult to sway. I swear I shall do my utmost, but it may not be possible….”

“What is his reputation, aside from that he’s fond of locking up nonwhite boys for petty offenses?”

Catching her drift at once, Mr. Elton replied, “Well. I hesitate to discuss such matters in mixed company….”

Emma had run out of patience. “Then why don’t you and Mr. Knightley go into the next room and discuss it man to man.” With only two people in the room, Mr. Elton might feel that he could speak more freely anyhow. 

The next few minutes were taken up with a Mr. Parker, an entrepreneur known slightly to the Woodhouses, who wanted them to invest in his new seaside resort, Sanditon. He seemed ready to discourse for hours upon the potential of the investment, so when Knightley returned Emma took advantage of the interruption to demand that Mr. Parker deliver his business plan to their accountants the following morning. Knightley, perceptive of Emma’s machinations, nudged Mr. Parker out of the door. 

“Are we going to invest in this Sanditon?” Knightley asked once the man was gone.

“If our accountants consider it sound,” Mr. Woodhouse replied.

Knightley smirked. “Maybe we should introduce him to Miss Bates.”

“Good lord. I get a headache from the mere thought. So what did Mr. Elton have to say that would have besmirched a young lady’s ears?”

“Judge Norris has been married to a woman from a wealthy family for several years, much to his own advantage. His secretary is twenty-six and very attractive. It’s possible he also engages in other dalliances when occasion permits. It’s also rumored that in the matter of controlled substances, he is a ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ sort of person.”

“Hmm. Get me a hacker, then.”

To her annoyance, the hacker who returned with Knightley was a new, up-and-coming one, Jane Fairfax. Not a bad soul, not at all, but one who had the power to exasperate Emma for no good reason. Knightley knew this, of course, and likely had chosen Jane in order to tease her.

“Thank you for inviting me to the reception, Miss Woodhouse.” Jane spoke politely and with reserve. This irritated Emma even more. Shouldn’t she be skulking about in a black hoodie and failing at basic social interaction? Instead she was standing there wearing a very fashionable understated dress that suited her coloring and gave her an air of elegance. How good a hacker could she be if she were this well mannered?

Emma forced herself to be businesslike. “We are delighted to have you. Now, what I need is to find out anything you can about a certain judge.”

Jane nodded. “Mr. Knightley was just telling me. I’ll see if I can find any evidence of this Judge Norris committing indiscretions. Including financial ones.”

“Yes, I was thinking he’s likely getting payoffs from one of those vile for-profit prisons or something. How long do you need?”

“I’ll start the moment I get home. I’d say two days, three if I have to do any social engineering.”

“Two days? Be certain to get an hour’s sleep somewhere in there!” Jane only smiled courteously at this sally, so Emma went on, “It will be all right if you need a little more time than that.” She admitted to herself that she harbored a tiny hope that Jane would need a little more time. Just so she seemed less excessively perfect.

“Social engineering? Don’t risk your own safety, my dear!” Mr. Woodhouse exclaimed.

Jane lifted her eyebrows, surprised and a little amused. “I assure you, I don’t do anything dangerous. And I’m sure three days will be more than sufficient. Thank you so much for the opportunity, Miss Woodhouse.”

“Good heavens, we’re the same age, or near enough, call me Emma.”

Before Jane had even left the room Emma was tapping on her phone. “I can’t hack his emails or whatever,” she told Knightley, “but I can search for news articles about him. Aha! He’s involved with a charitable organization. Some disease or other; he’s the honorary chair.” Emma dialed. Five minutes later, Judge Norris had eagerly agreed to meet Miss Woodhouse for lunch the day before Carl Lambe’s hearing in order to discuss Woodhouse Inc. making a substantial donation to his charity.

When they met for lunch, Emma would slide him a folder containing evidence of his misconduct and blandly suggest that he should be merciful to Carl Lambe.

“Be sure to tell Jane to look into that charity too,” Emma said irritably. “I’ll bet the sick people don’t see more than a nickel.”

“I’m sure Jane will find out about them on her own,” Knightley said, annoying Emma even more. “And will give us any dirt that exists. Why didn’t you invite Jane Fairfax to the dinner party?”

“We can’t invite everyone. Let’s see, we’ll also invite my sister Isabella and her husband, your brother. We need one more woman to make it even….”

“Shall I call Jane back to invite her?” Knightley teased.

“I’ll invite that Harriet Smith. She seemed like a sweet girl.” A sudden thought came to Emma. Harriet would be a most suitable cure for Mr. Elton’s loneliness.

Knightley arched an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with amusement. Emma pretended not to notice. 

“I wish we could invite Miss Taylor-I mean, Mrs. Weston, but she’ll still be on her honeymoon.”

“I wish she had stayed here for her honeymoon.” Mr. Woodhouse frowned, troubled. “Traveling is so dangerous. There are so many opportunities for assassins and kidnappers.”

“They took every precaution in their plans, Father,” Emma assured him. “And you know that Mr. Weston is a capable fighter. He will protect our Miss Taylor. I chose him for her with that in mind.”

Knightley’s eyebrows shot up. “Chose him? I believe Miss Taylor chose her own husband. This isn’t the Middle Ages, Emma.”

Emma smiled, satisfied with herself. “I saw that they would suit each other, and so I took opportunities to put them together, and encouraged them both.”

“You really think they wouldn’t have married if you hadn’t maneuvered them? People don’t need you to manage their personal lives for them.”

“Without my encouragement, they might never have spent enough time together to fall in love.”

“Then I wish you would not encourage, my dear,” Mr. Woodhouse said. “It is better that people stay where they are instead of going on dangerous honeymoons.”

Knightley smothered a smile. “They’re going to Hawaii. It isn’t exactly dangerous.”

“Our enemies are everywhere!”

Emma, anxious to distract her father from such musings, asked, “Is there anyone else who wishes to see us?”

“Just Miss Bates and her mother.”

Emma sighed, resigned. “That will take longer than every other meeting we’ve had put together.”

A moment later, the two were shown in. Miss Bates ran one of the many Woodhouse small enterprises, an ice cream parlor that hosted birthday parties for children and laundered money for some of the more clandestine Woodhouse businesses.

The instant Miss Bates entered, she was speaking, a steady flow of words which nothing could stem. Her elderly mother was silent at her side. Even with a hearing aid, she missed most of what was said. 

“Miss Woodhouse, it was so good of you to invite us! What a lovely wedding, it was the loveliest wedding we’ve ever been to, don’t you think so, Mother? Except for your sister’s, of course, she always had such lovely taste, and it was so good of you to have the wedding here. I thought the flowers were so beautiful! And the cake! It must have taken them days to decorate, all those curlicues in the icing. Oh, but then it would be stale. They must have an entire team of people putting icing on a big cake like that! It takes me long enough to write ‘Happy Birthday’ on a cake and make a border of flowers, doesn’t it, Mother? But then I like to make the letters clear, so the smallest children can make them out.”

“We greatly appreciate your work at the ice cream parlor, Miss Bates,” Emma cut in. Casting about for a compliment, as Miss Bates was a dear thing despite her habit of rattling on, Emma managed, “You always make the parties so fun for the children, with all the… balloons and things.”

Miss Bates was almost overcome at the praise. And she had to repeat it twice to her mother, who was unable to make it out the first time.

Miss Bates seemed on the verge of saying it a third time when Emma interrupted. “That reminds me, Miss Bates. Do you remember telling me that the insurance company told you that your plan didn’t cover the upgraded hearing aid for your mother?”

“Oh, indeed I do, and I could hardly believe it! I wouldn’t have thought it wouldn’t be covered, I read over the manual and it seemed like it should have been, but I must not have understood it right, but I asked them and they said it wasn’t covered, so I told them-”

“I took the liberty of calling the company. As I suspected, it was a misunderstanding. A clerical error. You can make an appointment for your mother to get the new hearing aid anytime.”

Emma had actually paid for the hearing aid herself and asked the doctor not to reveal this, trusting that the Bateses would not think to check the records.

Emma smiled graciously through Miss Bates’s astonishment and gratitude. When at last she was done and ushered out, Knightley smirked at her.

“How very selfless of you to get Mrs. Bates a better hearing aid. I’m sure it had nothing to do with not wanting to have to hear every remark three times over.”

“You see right through me. It was a purely selfish act.” Emma pocketed her phone and stood. “Now, let’s go and enjoy the rest of the reception!”