“You signed the cross-collateralization agreement yourself, Grant.”

“You lied to me about those terms,” he said, turning on me with sudden fury.

His eyes were bloodshot, filled with a desperate, wild anger.

“You set this trap months ago.”

“You set the trap when you opened those offshore accounts with Blaire,” I said.

The mention of her name made him flinch.

He looked toward the dark window, where the rain was coming down harder now.

“Blaire doesn’t know anything,” Grant muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

“She knew enough to save herself,” Lena said.

“She gave us the routing numbers for the Zurich accounts.”

Grant’s cell phone began to vibrate violently in his jacket pocket.

He pulled it out, staring at the screen with a look of dread.

The caller ID showed a number with a Swiss country code.

He looked at the phone, then at me, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“Answer it,” I said.

“Tell your buyer that the collection is no longer for sale.”

Grant pressed the phone to his ear and turned his back to us.