Marcus blotted the page, held it under the green lamp, and read it through twice.

“As of this minute, your father is not trustee of anything with your name on it.”

David let a breath out through his nose.

“He’s still in the ballroom,” he said.

“Then he can stay there.” Marcus squared the stack against the edge of the table.

“I want a word with Arthur Vance before he leaves.

Table one.

He’s had two brandies, and he isn’t hearing anybody tonight.”