The silver fork trembled almost imperceptibly in Linsy’s hand, its tines scraping a whisper against the fine bone china. The sound was a needle-scratch in the stifling quiet of the dining room, a room too grand, too perfectly appointed to ever feel truly lived in. It was a Helwart room, in the Helwart mansion on the hill, and tonight, it felt less like a home and more like a beautifully staged courtroom.

Across the expanse of polished mahogany, Michael Helwart met his wife’s gaze for a ...