Calling your lawyer?
Calling the local newspaper?
You poor, helpless bastard—”
Ring.
The high-pitched chime of an iPhone cut through Arthur’s sentence.
Julian pulled his phone from his coat.
He looked at the screen, frowning.
“It’s the bank.
The managing director of Sovereign Trust.”
He answered it, putting it to his ear.
“Hello?
Mr.
Vance—I mean, Mr.
Montgomery here—what do you mean?”
Julian’s face went completely pale.
The coffee cup slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor and splashing brown liquid across his Italian leather shoes.
“What do you mean frozen?”
Julian stuttered, his voice dropping an octave.
“All accounts?
The commercial credit lines?
The offshore reserves in Grand Cayman?
That’s fifty-three million dollars!”
Before anyone could process Julian’s panic, three more phones rang simultaneously in the hands of the other brothers.
Marcus grabbed his phone.
“What?!
Federal agents?
At the site?
What federal agents?!”
