I did not speak.

“Clara,” Arthur said.

His voice was thin, stripped of its usual booming confidence.

I could hear the sound of shattering glass and shouting men in the background of his line.

“I am here, Arthur,” I said.

“Where are the offshore keys?” he demanded, his voice cracking. “The feds are in the foyer. The accounts are frozen. Gregory says the digital vault is empty.”

“Gregory is correct,” I said.

“You took it,” he whispered. “Every dime.”

“I took my severance pay,” I said. “And the interest accumulated over seven years of seventy-hour work weeks.”

“I will find you, Clara,” he snarled. “There is nowhere on this earth you can hide from me. I made you.”

“You did not make me, Arthur,” I said. “You just let me watch you work. You showed me exactly how you built your empire, and you showed me every single crack in the foundation.”

“Julian Maroni won’t let you keep that money,” he spat. “He will hunt you down.”

“Julian is currently negotiating a plea deal with the district attorney,” I said. “I sent them his ledger yesterday afternoon. He is too busy saving himself to worry about me.”