“Without Blum, the court will grant our emergency injunction by nine tomorrow morning,” Julian said.

“What will Bennett do when he realizes his defense is gone?” I asked.

We watched Bennett stand under the yellow glare of the streetlamp, his wet hair plastered to his forehead.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at the screen.

He must have received the automated notification from Blum’s office.

He looked up, his eyes scanning the dark street as if expecting the police to appear from the shadows.

“He will run,” Julian said. “Or he will try to liquidate whatever he has left before the freeze takes effect.”

I stared at my husband’s distant, desperate figure.

He did not know we were sitting forty feet away in a dark sedan.

“The real estate is already tied up in the receivership,” I said, thinking aloud.

“The bank accounts are flagged,” Julian added.

“What about the intellectual property?” I asked.

Julian turned his head to look at me, his eyes narrowing. “The recipes?”

“The Whitlock culinary catalog,” I said. “My grandmother’s original formulas.”