He knew the affidavits were forged.

He knew his father had paid someone to mimic my signature on those papers.

But he had to play the part of the obedient son for just a little longer.

“I want to make sure she is taken care of,” Luke said, feigning reluctance.

“She has been compensated,” Arthur said, his voice dry. “More than she deserves.”

Luke opened the folder, his eyes scanning the lines of text without really reading them.

His mind was elsewhere, tracking the minutes as they ticked away toward four o’clock.

He had sent a silent text to Marco just before entering the house.

*Vance is the key. Get him.*

Marco was already in Queens, his dark sedan parked two blocks from the storage facility.

The rain was coming down harder there, turning the gravel lot into a field of grey mud.

Marco adjusted the collar of his coat, his eyes fixed on the rusted metal doors of the warehouse.

He saw a small, balding man in a yellow raincoat scurry toward the side entrance.

It was Donald Vance.