The metal chain of the handcuffs around his wrists clinked against the seatbelt buckle.

I did not step into the vehicle.

I stood on the wet gravel, looking down at him.

“You have five minutes before the transport arrives,” I said.

“We were married for eight years,” Grant said, his voice trembling. “Eight years, Allison. That has to mean something.”

I leaned my arm against the frame of the door, keeping my face expressionless.

“It meant something to me,” I said. “It clearly did not mean much to you.”

“I had no choice,” he said, leaning closer to the door. “My mother—she controls the trusts. She controls the family name. If I didn’t go along with the shipping contracts, she would have ruined me.”

“You chose treason over your country, Grant,” I said. “And you chose your mother over your wife.”

“I can fix it,” he pleaded, his hands reaching out toward me as far as the cuffs would allow. “I can give you the names of the port officials in Savannah. The ones who took the bribes to let the containers pass.”