She’s demanding to see you.”

I walked down the long driveway to the gate.

And there, on the other side of the iron bars, stood my oldest friend — disheveled, frantic, clutching a single suitcase.

Her salon, it turned out, had been funded by a loan that traced back through Fiona’s shell companies, and when the forensic net came down, it had caught Paige in the edge of it.

Her assets were seized, her business closed, her creditors suing.

The bank had taken the condo she had stolen from me.