“No, it isn’t,” Gloria snapped. “My husband left that house to me free and clear.”

“He left it to the family trust,” I corrected her. “The trust that Graham has been borrowing against for the last three years to cover his trading losses.”

Gloria’s face went completely grey.

She turned to her son, her hand shaking as she reached out to grab his sleeve.

“Graham,” Gloria whispered. “What is she talking about?”

Graham didn’t look at his mother.

His eyes were locked on me, his breathing shallow and rapid.

“How do you know about the trust?” Graham asked, his voice barely audible.

“Because I bought the note on the trust’s primary mortgage last week,” I said.

Sterling reached into his briefcase one last time.

He didn’t pull out a document this time.

Instead, he took out his phone, which had just begun to vibrate on the mahogany table, the screen lighting up with a name.

The screen read *Detective Miller, Dallas PD Financial Crimes*.

Sterling did not answer it immediately.

He let the phone hum against the dark wood, the vibration making a dull, rattling sound.