“What is this?” I asked.

Arthur leaned back, his face shadowed by the dim light of the desk lamp.

“That is the record of what your ex-boyfriend stole from me,” he said. “And you are going to help me get it back.”

I stared at the black ink on the white paper.

My hand shook as I traced the sharp curves of the signature.

“Tristan doesn’t have this kind of money,” I whispered.

“He did,” Arthur said. “Until three weeks ago.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case.

He did not open it, but simply tapped the polished metal against the edge of the desk.

“He took forty million dollars from an account we control,” Arthur said.

The room felt suddenly cold, the temperature dropping with those words.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “He’s a hedge fund manager.”

“He is a thief who got greedy,” Arthur replied.

He set the silver case down on the desk with a dull metallic click.

“He used a shell company registered in your name to move the first five million.”

My heart stopped.