Adrian stopped scrolling.

He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing in the dim light.

“He did,” Adrian said slowly. “He helped Grant secure the permits for the pier.”

“And Grant has been using those piers to move smuggled goods,” I said.

Adrian looked down at his phone, his expression hardening.

“Julian told me he was helping a young developer build a retail space,” Adrian said.

“Grant doesn’t build retail spaces,” I said. “He builds covers.”

The fog seemed to grow thicker around us, swallowing the yellow light of the streetlamp.

“I need to call Julian,” Adrian said.

“Are you sure you can trust him?” I asked, reaching out to touch his sleeve.

“He’s my father’s brother,” Adrian said. “He wouldn’t involve himself in art theft.”

But his voice lacked conviction.

He tapped the screen to place the call.

The phone began to ring, the sound loud in the quiet street.

I watched Adrian’s face as he waited for his uncle to answer.

Across the street, a dark SUV pulled out from an alleyway, its headlights off.