“Just some adjustments with the trust,” she said, her voice dropping to a lower, tighter register. “Nothing you need to worry your head about, but I need Graham to sign some papers, and he is being difficult to reach today.”

My interest piqued, but I kept my breathing steady.

The Ralston family trust was supposedly massive and ironclad.

At least, that was the grand lie they told Highland Park society.

“I see,” I said. “I will be at the office.”

“Ten o’clock,” she said, and hung up without saying goodbye.

The screen went black.

A second later, a text message notification popped up from Marcus.

*Drafting the formal non-renewal now. It will be hand-delivered to Ralston Enterprises by five o’clock.*

My hand did not shake.

A cold, quiet calm settled over me.

Graham had no backup plan.

He had leveraged every dollar he could borrow on that Oak Lawn location.

The wealthy investors he had dined with at the Mansion on Turtle Creek last week had only agreed to fund him because of that specific showroom.

It was in the absolute center of the design district.