A tall man in a dark trench coat was carrying a large, empty shipping crate down the hallway.

Beside him walked Philip, Grant’s brother, holding a set of keys.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at the screen.

They were already moving the art.

“Lena,” I said, holding out the phone so she could see the screen. “Look at this.”

Lena leaned closer, her breath warm against my temple as she stared at the glowing display.

“He is using Philip to do the dirty work,” Lena whispered.

“Philip still has the master keys to the west wing,” I said.

My fingers trembled slightly as I zoomed in on the crate.

It was a professional art crate, custom-built for transport and lined with thick blue foam.

“They are taking the Dutch landscapes first,” I said.

“We have the injunction, Nora,” Lena said, her voice turning cold and sharp.

“Judge Vance signed the emergency order at four o’clock this afternoon.”

“Does Grant know?” I asked.

“Not yet,” she said. “The process server is on his way, but we cannot afford to wait for him.”