“We can make a deal,” he murmured, his eyes scanning the board members who were now huddled in quiet, panicked discussions.

“A deal that will give you more money than you could ever spend in a lifetime.”

“I don’t want your money, Grant,” I said.

“I want what belongs to my children.”

Just then, the glass door to the boardroom vibrated.

A young associate burst into the room without knocking, his face flushed.

“Mr. Holloway, the bank is on line one,” the associate gasped.

“They say the federal regulators have just flagged the Cayman transfer.”

Every eye in the room turned to the flashing red light on the console in the center of the table.

The silence in the boardroom was absolute.

Only the hum of the air conditioning unit high above us broke the quiet.

Grant did not look at the associate who had just delivered the news.

He kept his eyes fixed on mine, though his jaw tightened until a muscle in his cheek twitched.

“Leave us,” Grant said to the associate, his voice low and dangerous.