“The transaction cleared ten minutes ago,” Sterling said, his voice laced with quiet satisfaction. “Your holding company now holds the primary deed of trust on Gloria Ralston’s Highland Park residence.”

“Excellent,” I said. “Keep me updated on her payment status.”

“I suspect she will be calling you very soon,” Sterling said. “Or coming to find you.”

“Let her,” I said.

I hung up the phone and looked out my office window, watching the traffic crawl along the freeway in the distance.

The temperature outside was rising, but inside, everything was perfectly cold.

My computer monitor blinked, showing an incoming email from my personal banking representative.

It was a notification of a wire transfer receipt, a seven-figure sum from a commercial closing I had finalized the day before.

I minimized the screen and opened my daily task list, returning to my mundane administrative duties.

I wanted to be here, at my desk, when the storm finally hit.

Just after three o’clock, the main entrance door to the suite opened with a heavy thud.

I heard the receptionist’s voice, polite but strained.

“Ma’am, you can’t go back there without an appointment.”