“They were waiting for you, Grant,” I said.

Grant walked past me, ignoring my presence entirely as if I were a ghost in my own home.

He went straight to the hired mover.

“Keep packing,” Grant ordered. “I pay you to work, not to stand around.”

The mover looked at Philip, then at the legal document in Lena’s hand.

“Sir, the lady mentioned an injunction,” the mover said, stepping back.

“There is no injunction,” Grant snapped, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

“My wife is trying to scare you with empty threats.”

“It is not a scare tactic, Grant,” Lena said.

She laid the folded paper directly on top of the empty wooden crate.

“Judge Vance signed the order freezing all personal and corporate assets linked to Mercer Hospitality Group,” Lena said.

“That includes the contents of Darrow House.”

“These paintings belong to my mother’s family trust,” Grant said, his voice rising in anger.

He pointed a finger at the wall where a blank space now showed.

“They are not corporate assets.”

“The Mercer family trust was funded entirely by Whitaker Capital three years ago,” I said.