I had spent five years building this company with Adrian, securing the licenses, designing the frameworks, and managing the clients.

Now, it was being dismantled in a matter of minutes by a woman who had never drawn a single blueprint.

“Adrian is going to prison if this goes through,” Julian remarked quietly.

“He signed the compliance certificates himself,” I said. “He swore the reserve funds were untouched.”

The car slowed as we neared the entrance of the Drake Hotel.

The doorman, holding a large umbrella, stepped forward to open the door.

Julian and I hurried inside, the warm air of the lobby smelling of lilies and expensive perfume.

We walked toward the lounge, where Adrian usually held his business meetings.

The room was dimly lit, with dark leather booths and a fire crackling in the hearth.

I spotted Adrian sitting in a corner booth, a half-empty glass of scotch on the table in front of him.

He looked tired, his tie loosened and his hair slightly disheveled.

He didn’t see us until we were standing right in front of his table.