He slipped his thumb over to his secondary credit card application.

The screen displayed a zero balance with a legal hold notice attached.

“Marcus knew exactly which buttons to push,” Alexander said.

He let his hand fall to his side, the phone still glowing in his palm.

“They’ve stripped me of my own name before I can even walk into a courtroom.”

The rain outside rattled against the loose metal frame of the window.

A cold draft swept across the floorboards, chilling my ankles.

“You still have Arthur,” I reminded him.

He looked down at the device again.

“If Arthur has seen this news, he might already be doubting me.”

“He knew your father, Alexander,” I said. “He knows what kind of man you are.”

Alexander nodded slowly, though his face remained tense.

He opened his contacts and selected Arthur Pendelton’s private number.

He pressed the phone to his ear.

The silence in the safehouse was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator.

I watched Alexander’s jaw tighten as the line rang.

Once. Twice. Three times.

“Arthur,” Alexander said, his voice urgent.