Graham was sitting in the formal living room.

He had a glass of scotch in his hand, and his tie was undone.

His face was flushed, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Jocelyn,” he said, standing up unsteadily. “Where have you been?”

“I was out,” I said, keeping my voice flat.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, walking toward me.

The smell of alcohol on his breath was strong.

“The bank called me today,” Graham said. “They are threatening to call in the loans on the McKinney project.”

I did not say anything.

“I need five million dollars by Friday, Jocelyn,” he said, his voice cracking. “Just to keep them quiet.”

“That is your problem, Graham,” I said.

He reached out to grab my arm, but I stepped back.

“We are partners, Jocelyn,” he said, trying to soften his tone. “If I go down, you go down too.”

“We are not partners,” I said.

“Think about the girls,” he pleaded, his hands shaking. “Think about Hazel and Ruby.”

“I am thinking about them,” I said. “That is why I am doing this.”