They had heard my quiet deadline and my talk of the law, and they had decided it was a bluff, and they had thrown a party to prove it.

I parked across the street from the driveway, and I sat in the dark of the car for a moment, and I checked the time on the dashboard clock.

Eight fifty-nine.

The front door opened.

Julian stepped out onto the porch, still in the same silk robe, still holding a glass of scotch, wearing the same smug, comfortable expression he had worn when he shut the door in my face six hours earlier.

He had come out, I think, to gloat, to watch the sister from Dubai sit alone in her car and do nothing.