“Yes, Hans,” Grant said, his voice dropping to a low, hurried whisper.

He walked a few steps away, toward the far end of the gallery.

“We are experiencing a slight logistical delay with the transport.”

I watched his shoulders tense as the person on the other end spoke.

“No, the provenance papers are all here,” Grant said into the receiver.

“I will wire the confirmation details within the hour.”

Lena stepped toward him, her heels clicking sharply on the floor.

“If you accept any funds from that buyer, Grant, it is federal wire fraud,” Lena said loudly.

“The bank will reject the deposit, and the authorities will be waiting.”

Grant ended the call without another word and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

He turned back to us, his face completely devoid of color.

“You are destroying everything, Nora,” he said, his voice trembling.

“The Mercer name will be completely ruined by tomorrow morning.”

“The Mercer name was ruined the day you took over,” I said.

Philip took a step backward, away from the wooden crates.

“I told you this wouldn’t work, Grant,” Philip muttered, shaking his head.