The driver’s side door of the SUV began to open.

Julian Vance stepped out of the vehicle, his wool overcoat collar turned up against the wind.

He held a thick leather portfolio under his arm.

“The wind is picking up,” Julian said, walking toward me.

“It always does by the water,” I replied, tucking my keys into my coat pocket.

He stopped a few feet away, his gaze shifting to the phone still in my hand.

“Was that Adrian?” he asked.

“He wanted me to commit perjury to save his assets,” I said.

Julian nodded slowly, his expression neutral.

“The federal trustees finalized the auction listing this afternoon,” he said, tapping the portfolio.

“We have the certified funds ready,” I said.

“Margaret Hale confirmed the foundation’s backing an hour ago,” Julian said.

He opened the folder and handed me a document bearing the seal of the Chicago district court.

“This is the official registration for the bidding pool,” he said.

I signed my name on the blue line at the bottom of the page.

My hand was steady.

The ink dried quickly in the cold air.