te. It was a sprawling gothic mansi

re the driver cou

through the

ather, Fulton, and his wif

llowed, standing up. His

h faux pity. "Oh, poor d

her escape as a mental bre

ked to the head of the tabl

a cup of tea from

is cold,

he brown liquid poure

ed. "That's

eing, not a broodm

hand on the table

now! He is threatenin

" Blake s

r my mother'

on the room. Hea

"That money is mana

bezzled?" Blake

ull acces

ie sneered. "Yo

t pocket. It was a printout of a bank ro

the Caymans, doe

s bulged. "H

edger," Blake

tax evasion on the

on nervously. Her han

't dare," F

forward. Her

ave nothing