“You didn’t patch anything,” Nathaniel said, his eyes narrowing.

He opened the thick manila folder on his desk.

Inside were neat columns of numbers, stamped with the red seal of Graves Enterprises.

“I have some documents here that I think Claire should see,” Nathaniel said, looking directly toward the study door.

“And you, Arthur, are going to sit down.”

Arthur took a step toward the exit anyway.

“I am leaving, Nathaniel.”

“Call your security off, or my attorneys will have a field day with this.”

Nathaniel pressed a button on his desk phone.

“Marcus,” he said into the speaker.

“Yes, Mr. Graves?” a deep voice replied instantly.

“Mr. Dunleavy is feeling restless.”

“Ensure the elevators remain disabled.”

“Understood, sir.”

The line went dead with a soft click.

Arthur stared at the phone.

His mouth was slightly open.

He looked like a man who had suddenly realized the ice beneath his feet was paper-thin.

Nathaniel turned his head toward our hiding place.

“Claire,” he called out softly.

“Ruby.”

“You can come out now.”

I hesitated, my hand still gripping the brass handle of the study door.