The line went silent for a moment, save for the sound of heavy breathing.

“You planned this,” he said. “From the day you walked out.”

“No,” I said. “I planned this from the day you told me I was easily replaced.”

“Clara, please,” he said, his tone suddenly shifting to a desperate whine. “We can work this out. I can double your share. Just give me the encryption codes for the Zurich accounts. I need the lawyers.”

“The lawyers won’t help you, Arthur,” I said. “I sent the unredacted files to the federal prosecutor’s office three hours ago.”

“What files?” he gasped.

“The ones Gregory thought he deleted,” I said. “The ones detailing the harbor project. The ones with your signature on every page.”

I heard a loud crash on his end of the line, followed by the sound of wood splintering.

“Federal agents! Put your hands on your head!” a distant voice shouted through Arthur’s phone.

“Clara—” Arthur started.

I pressed the red button, terminating the call.

I removed the SIM card from the phone, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the small trash bin beneath the armrest.