The phone kept vibrating, a dull, buzzing sound against his chest.

“Answer it, Arthur,” I said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

He looked at the screen, his expression hardening.

“Excuse me,” he said to the officers, stepping toward the window.

He pressed the phone to his ear.

“Ethan,” he said. “What is the status?”

I watched his face.

The confidence drained from his eyes, replaced by a tense, rigid look that I had seen on dozens of defendants during my time in court.

“What do you mean, they won’t execute the wire?” Pendelton whispered, turning his back to me.

I heard a faint, frantic voice coming through the receiver of his phone, tinny and high-pitched.

“They flagged it?” Pendelton asked. “On what grounds?”

He listened for another ten seconds, his fingers tightening around the plastic casing of his phone.

“Get out of the branch,” Pendelton said, his voice dropping to a low hiss. “Do not sign anything else. Do not speak to the branch manager.”

He ended the call and turned around to face me.