But the guards stood still, watching the police.

“We need to go inside, Mr. Whitmore,” Detective Torres said, gesturing toward the hotel lobby.

“We can discuss the details of the notary’s statement in the office.”

“What notary statement?” Grant’s voice cracked.

“Sarah Jenkins,” I said, stepping past him. “She already talked to Diane’s team, Grant.”

Grant’s face drained of color under the bright dock lights.

The police escorted us through the side glass doors of the Meridian, leaving the shouting reporters behind.

We were led into the private conference room off the main lobby.

The room had a large mahogany table, leather chairs, and a window that looked out over the harbor.

Caleb followed us inside, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

“I want my lawyer,” Grant said, refusing to sit.

“Your lawyer is on his way,” Detective Torres said, laying a manila folder on the table.

“But we have the video of the notary signing the deed transfer.”

“And we have the ledger showing the transaction was backdated.”

Grant looked at the folder, then slowly turned his head toward Lila.