I looked down the hall at Philip, who was whispering frantically to his mother.

“Look at this,” I said, showing her the screen.

I showed her the screen.

Lena stared at the glowing numbers, her fingers tightening on the edge of her tablet.

“Philip was the co-signer,” she whispered.

“He wasn’t just helping Grant cover his tracks. He was funding Blaire’s silence through a Swiss channel.”

Across the carpeted hallway, Philip noticed us looking.

He stopped talking to Margaret, his posture stiffening as he gripped his leather briefcase.

Margaret watched him, her brow furrowing as she tried to read his expression.

I locked eyes with Philip, then slowly turned my phone face down against my coat.

“Keep walking,” I told Lena. “We don’t give them a preview of this.”

We stepped into the elevator just as the doors began to slide shut.

Margaret’s sharp voice echoed down the corridor, calling my name, but the heavy metal doors drowned her out.

The elevator descended in silence, the numbers ticking down to the lobby.

“If Philip is tied to Blaire’s offshore account, the conspiracy goes deeper than the hospitality group,” Lena said, adjusting her glasses.