They had tried to buy our culinary brand three years ago.

I had blocked the sale because they wanted to mass-produce my family’s artisanal formulas in factories.

“They have been waiting for this,” I said.

“If they complete the transaction, it will take years of international litigation to get the rights back,” Julian said.

“Priya, can you delay the wire transfer?” I asked.

“I can flag it for compliance,” Priya said. “But the receiving bank is in Switzerland.”

“Do it,” I said. “Flag every single dollar.”

“I am on it,” Priya said.

In the townhouse, the shadow at the window stopped moving.

The light in the second-floor room suddenly went dark.

“He is leaving,” I said, watching the front door.

The heavy iron gate of the townhouse creaked open.

Bennett emerged, wearing a dark trench coat with the collar turned up against the cold.

He was carrying a black leather briefcase.

He looked down the street, his eyes darting from left to right.

He began walking quickly toward Tenth Avenue.

“Should we follow him?” Thomas asked from the front seat.