“Good,” I said.

“Leave it exactly where it is. Do not flag the account.”

“He’s in trouble, isn’t he?” Marcus asked.

“His commercial landlord is ready to padlock his office on Friday,” I said.

“He’s going to do something desperate.”

“Understood,” Marcus said.

“I’ll monitor the filing systems. If he tries to pull a title report, I’ll know within five minutes.”

I hung up the phone.

I stood up and went to the window, looking down at the street below.

I saw Gloria’s silver Mercedes pull out of the parking garage and merge into the heavy traffic heading north toward the tollway.

She thought she was saving her family.

She had no idea she had just handed me the final piece of the puzzle.

That evening, the air in the Highland Park house was thick with humidity and unspoken tension.

Hazel and Ruby were upstairs in their playroom, the muffled sound of their laughter drifting down the curved staircase.

I was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water, when the heavy oak front door slammed shut.

Graham’s footsteps were heavy, uneven.