I looked down at his hand on my wrist.

“Take your hand off me, Graham,” I said.

He let go immediately, his chest heaving.

“I am thinking of the girls,” I said. “That is why I bought your debt. So they would never have to pay for your mistakes.”

My phone buzzed in my hand.

I looked down at the screen.

It was a notification from the security camera at our Highland Park home.

A text followed from an unknown number.

I tapped it open.

The text was from Marcus, my head of security.

It contained a single photograph.

The image showed the front gates of our Highland Park estate on Beverly Drive.

Two men in dark suits were standing beside a silver sedan, holding manila envelopes.

Underneath the photo, Marcus had typed: *The process servers have arrived. Gloria’s assistant is refusing to open the gate.*

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass.

“Who is that?” Graham asked, his voice high and thin.

He tried to squint at my phone, but I turned the screen away.

“It doesn’t concern you, Graham,” I said.