I looked at Margaret.

She gave me a brief, firm nod.

“I will be right here,” Margaret said.

I walked past Grant into his private office.

The air inside smelled of expensive leather, mahogany, and his familiar cologne.

A massive floor-to-ceiling window showed the gray skyline of the city, heavy with rain clouds.

Grant shut the door behind us, blocking out the murmur of the board members.

He walked behind his desk, but he did not sit down.

“Let’s be practical,” Grant said.

He leaned his palms on the polished black glass of his desk.

“You have three newborns in the pediatric ICU.”

“They need specialized care, the best doctors, and a stable future.”

“They have that,” I said. “Through their grandfather’s trust.”

“The trust is locked up in litigation now,” Grant said, his voice dropping to a persuasive purr.

“It could take years to resolve.”

“In the meantime, I can offer you something immediate.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small black leather notebook.

“There is an offshore account in Switzerland,” he said.

“It is completely off the record.”