Julian had married his way close to it, and then he had gone to work on it, the way a certain kind of man goes to work on anything he can reach: quietly, patiently, with forged authorizations and redirected statements and a slow bleed of funds into accounts of his own.

He had emptied safe-deposit boxes.

He had been converting everything he could into things he could carry.

And somewhere in the last few weeks, Elena had found out.

That was what the arguments Mrs.

Harris heard through the wall had been.