Celeste pulled away, her heels slipping on the wet stone steps.

In Julian’s lap, his cell phone began to vibrate violently.

He looked down at the caller ID.

His eyebrows rose.

“It is Henry Blum,” Julian said.

“Put it on speaker,” I said, my eyes still fixed on the wet street.

Julian tapped the screen and held the phone between us.

The rain drummed a steady, relentless beat against the roof of the sedan.

“Henry,” Julian said, his voice calm and level. “You are on speaker with myself and Evelyn.”

There was a heavy sigh on the other end, followed by the distinct rustle of paper.

“Julian,” Henry Blum said, his voice sounding much older than it had this morning. “I have just reviewed the digital files your office transmitted ten minutes ago.”

Across the street, Bennett grabbed Celeste’s wrist again.

She slapped his hand away with a sharp, downward motion and climbed into the driver’s seat of her red convertible.

“The signatures on the 2022 trust restructuring,” Blum continued, his tone clinical. “They do not match the originals in the state archive.”