“Grant,” Conrad’s voice lost its calm, cultured tone, replaced by a low, dangerous hiss. “Think very carefully about your next move.”

“I have thought about it,” Grant screamed at the phone. “You’ve spent my whole life telling me I’m not smart enough, that I’m not strong enough to run the company. But I was smart enough to copy your personal servers.”

On the laptop screen, a progress bar appeared, rapidly filling with blue light as files transferred.

Naomi’s fingers flew across her keyboard, her eyes scanning the directories.

“My God,” she whispered.

“What is it?” I asked, keeping my eyes on Grant.

“It’s everything,” Naomi said, her voice trembling slightly with excitement. “Bank routing numbers. Authorization codes signed by Conrad himself. Correspondence with offshore shell companies.”

She clicked a folder labeled *Harrow Maritime*.

“There are millions here, Amelia,” she said. “Transferred from the corporate foundation directly to private accounts in Zurich.”

“Hang up the phone, Ms. Pierce,” Conrad said.

“I don’t think I will, Mr. Harrow,” Naomi said. “In fact, I’m about to forward these files to a colleague of mine at the Securities and Exchange Commission.”