His jaw tightened, the muscles along his neck straining against his collar.

“Turn this boat around, Grant,” Caleb said, his voice flat.

“Caleb, listen to me—” Grant started, stepping forward.

“No,” Caleb interrupted. “We’re going back.”

Grant looked at the captain, who was already turning the wheel.

The yacht swung hard to the left, the bow cutting sharply through the choppy harbor water.

Lila stood by the cabin table, her fingers clutching her small designer bag so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Grant, do something,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “They can’t arrest us.”

Grant didn’t look at her.

He kept his eyes on me, his breathing shallow and fast.

“You think you’ve won, Vivian,” he muttered.

I didn’t answer him.

I simply held the leather notary ledger close to my chest.

The rain continued to lash against the glass as the yacht made its way back toward the lights of the Meridian Hotel.

The dock was illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights of three police cruisers.

A small crowd of hotel guests and local reporters, who had been attending the merger gala, stood under the canopy.