“I only did the appraisals,” Cole muttered, staring at the floor.

“You did more than that, Cole,” Lydia said, stepping closer to him.

“You facilitated three private sales of the 1982 Lafite and the 1961 Latour,” Lydia said.

“He forced me,” Cole said, his voice cracking. “Evan threatened to ruin my reputation in the valley.”

“You took a twenty percent cut, Cole,” Sloane yelled. “Don’t act like a victim!”

Evan looked like a cornered animal, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

The rain outside started to beat harder against the glass of the dining room window.

The dining room felt increasingly cramped, filled with the scent of expensive perfume and damp wool.

“There is more, isn’t there?” I asked, looking at Sloane.

Sloane swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

“Yes,” she said.

“What else did he take?” I asked.

“It wasn’t just Evan,” Sloane said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “His mother was here.”

I felt a cold chill run down my spine.

“Vivian?” I asked.

“She brought boxes,” Sloane said. “Three nights ago.”

“What was in the boxes, Ms. Pierce?” Malcolm asked, pulling out a small notebook.