“I cataloged every transaction, every wire transfer, and every meeting for five years.”

He stared at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Patricia didn’t know,” he stammered, looking back at the sedan.

“She did,” I said.

“She signed the authorizations herself.”

Vance walked back over, his heavy boots crushing the wet stones.

“Time is up, Colonel,” Vance said.

He looked at Grant with cold, professional detachment.

“Your mother is already named in the federal warrants,” Vance said.

“The transport vans are five minutes out.”

Grant looked back at the massive stone house, his eyes frantic.

“What about the house?” Grant asked.

“What about our things?”

Vance pulled out a secure tablet, the screen glowing blue in the rain.

“The asset forfeiture orders are signed,” Vance said.

“Everything goes.”

He tapped the screen.

“We are seizing the Buckhead estate, the townhouse in Savannah, and the island property.”

“The vehicles, the art collection, the private hangar at Peachtree DeKalb airport,” Vance added.

“All of it will be cataloged for government auction.”

Grant shook his head, his face twisting in pain.

“You can’t do that,” he said.