He looked up, his glasses catching the yellow reflection of the chandelier.

“And it isn’t Grant,” he said.

Patricia stood perfectly still.

The rain continued to beat against the glass.

The phone on the table stopped ringing, then immediately started again.

A heavy shadow appeared on the wet driveway outside, moving toward the front door.

The shadow outside solidified against the frosted glass of the heavy oak door.

The brass knocker fell three times, a sharp, metallic sound that cut through the noise of the rain.

General Vance nodded toward the marshal nearest the foyer.

The marshal opened the door, letting in a swirl of wet, pine-scented air and a tall man in a dark trench coat.

The new arrival carried a black leather courier bag, dripping water onto the Persian rug.

He handed a sealed manila envelope directly to Arthur.

Arthur tore it open without a word, his thumb slicing the thick paper.

“This is the certified bank registry from Zurich,” Arthur said, sliding a fresh sheet of paper onto the mahogany table.

Patricia did not look at the paper.