“He has forty thousand dollars in personal debts in Seattle and seven days left to pretend he owns my life,” Raymond said, his eyelids blinking twice quickly as he took in the room.

“He told the kitchen staff I was lower class,” I said softly.

“He’s a coward wearing my money,” Raymond said, his chest rising and falling in a deep, steady rhythm.

“Did you send the message?”

“The screen said delivered before I turned the phone off,” I said.

“Then Arthur Pendelton will be at the front gate early tomorrow morning,” Raymond said, his jaw tightening into a hard line.

“Don’t pack a single bag.”