“We can just focus on the recovery.”

The first police officer stepped forward, his boots clicking on the stone floor.

“Mr. Graves, is this the man who was trespassing on the upper floors?” the officer asked.

“Yes, Officer,” Nathaniel said.

“And he is also the man who has been embezzling funds from our residential properties.”

“I have the forensic accounting reports ready for you.”

Dunleavy took a step back, clutching his briefcase to his chest.

“This is a setup,” he screamed.

“They’re trying to frame me!”

“I have rights!”

The second officer moved in from the side, blocking his path to the exit.

“Sir, put the briefcase down,” the officer commanded.

“No!” Dunleavy shouted.

“This is my property!”

“These are my files!”

He lunged toward the glass doors, trying to push past the officer.

The officer was quicker, grabbing Dunleavy’s arm and twisting it behind his back.

The briefcase slipped from Dunleavy’s grip, hitting the marble floor with a loud clatter.

The latch broke, and dozens of paper documents spilled out across the wet stone.

Bank statements, lease agreements, and old letters scattered in the puddles of rainwater.