“I’ve never heard of them,” Graham said. “Who the hell is Bluebell Lane Capital, Elliot?”

Elliot didn’t answer him.

Elliot’s eyes were fixed on me, a sudden, terrible realization dawning on his face.

The rain continued to patter against the high glass windows of the foyer.

A guest in the back of the room cleared their throat, the sound incredibly loud in the silence.

Bianca looked from the screen to Graham, her hands trembling.

“Graham, what does this mean?” Bianca whispered.

“It means we don’t own the firm anymore,” Elliot said quietly.

He lowered his phone.

“Or rather, I don’t, and you certainly don’t.”

Graham shook his head, his hands clenching into fists.

“We can contest the default,” Graham said. “It was a temporary liquidity issue.”

“It wasn’t a liquidity issue, Graham,” I said. “It was theft.”

“And Bluebell Lane Capital has no intention of negotiating with a thief.”

I looked at the mahogany clock on the wall.

It was exactly 8:15 PM.

The lights in the driveway flickered as another car pulled up outside.

Headlights swept across the wet lawn, casting long shadows through the glass.