“And the bank’s enforcement deadline is November eighteenth.”

Christopher Pembroke reached out and pulled the document closer to his plate, squinting at the ledger rows under the bright chandelier.

He reached into his own breast pocket, took out the thick yellow envelope he’d delivered to me earlier, and set it right beside my paper.

“I had my own independent firm appraise those twelve lots yesterday morning, Brandon,” Pembroke said, his voice slow and heavy.

Chloe leaned over Brandon’s arm, her nails tapping fast, erratic patterns against her phone case.