“And my personal accounts?” I asked.

“Frozen under a commercial lien,” Caleb said. “He filed a claim asserting you stole proprietary design files from the Whitmore Group.”

I stared at the paper, the numbers blurring.

“He wants to starve me,” I said.

“He knows you can’t pay Diane’s retainer if you don’t have cash,” Caleb said.

He looked at Diane, then back to me.

“He also changed the security codes at the Harbor Point house,” Caleb added.

My chest tightened.

“The house is in both our names,” I said.

“The deed is held by a trust,” Caleb said. “A trust that Grant controls as the sole managing trustee.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic card.

“This is the gate key for the service entrance,” he said, handing it to me. “But the locks on the main doors have already been rekeyed.”

“Why are you helping me, Caleb?” I asked.

He looked out over the dark water of the harbor.

“Because Grant is turning the Maribel into a cheap imitation of your work,” he said. “And because I don’t like being lied to.”