“That’s impossible,” I said. “I never signed anything.”

“He has your power of attorney, Kate.”

The memory hit me like a physical blow to the stomach.

Three years ago, when we bought the apartment, I had signed a thick stack of papers without reading them.

I had trusted him completely.

“He set you up to take the fall if things went wrong,” Arthur said.

He leaned back, his face entirely in shadow now.

“The police will look at these documents and see your name on the transfers.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, my voice cracking.

“I believe you,” Arthur said. “But the district attorney won’t care about your innocence.”

He paused, letting the threat hang in the quiet room.

Outside, the autumn rain began to beat harder against the penthouse windows.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“I want my money back,” he said.

“I don’t have forty million dollars,” I said. “He took my savings, too.”

“I know,” Arthur said. “But you have something else.”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a sleek black tablet.