Cassian spun around.

Two federal investigators were waiting near the doors, in no particular hurry, the way people are unhurried when the person they’ve come for has nowhere to go.

And Sylvie — Sylvie was already backing away from him across the terrace, my grandmother’s bracelet still on her wrist, her face rearranging itself as she did her own arithmetic at last.

“You told me she was barren,” she said.

“You told me the money was yours.”

“It was ours!” he snapped, wheeling on her.