“What are you doing, Nathaniel?” Julian asked.

“I am correcting a twelve-year-old mistake,” Nathaniel said.

The lobby was silent except for the hum of the air conditioning.

Rain began to patter against the high glass windows, blurring the yellow taxi lights on the street outside.

We waited in the stillness of the glass tower.

Ten minutes later, an elderly man in a dark grey suit emerged from the elevator.

He carried a thick leather briefcase and a portable printing device.

“Mr. Graves,” the lawyer said, nodding once.

“Vance, I need the deed of transfer for the Brindlewood property,” Nathaniel said.

“But sir, the board has not approved a sale,” Vance said, adjusting his spectacles.

“This is not a sale,” Nathaniel said. “This is a restitution under the original trust clause.”

He pointed to the signature on Julian’s book.

“Claire Ellis is the designated trustee and beneficiary of the land,” Nathaniel explained.

“If we do not execute the transfer now, the entire Graves Group faces a federal audit for the actions of Dunleavy and my late father.”

The lawyer looked at the document, then looked at me.