“A company called Bluebird Trust,” Graham said. “I’m trying to find out who runs it. My broker is looking into the registration.”

I adjusted the manila envelope in my lap, the paper making a dry, scraping sound in the quiet room.

Outside, the Dallas rain beat a steady rhythm against the tall arched windows.

“You don’t need to call your broker, Graham,” I said.

Both of them turned to look at me, their expressions a mix of irritation and confusion.

“Jocelyn, stay out of this,” Graham said, his old arrogance flickering for a second. “This is family business. You wouldn’t understand the financing.”

“I understand it perfectly,” I said.

I opened the manila envelope and pulled out the legal documents inside.

I stood up, walked over to the coffee table, and slid the first set of papers across the glass toward Graham.

“These are for you,” I said.

Graham frowned, looking down at the bold lettering at the top of the page.

*In the District Court of Dallas County, Texas.*

His eyes moved down the page, his lips parting slightly as he read the words.