Rain was beginning to spot the glass, blurring the grey New York skyline.

“We have the corporate registration for Blue Horizon,” Lena continued, her voice steady and clinical. “The sole beneficial owner is listed as Grant Mercer.”

“That’s a lie,” Margaret said, her hand slamming onto the table. “My son would never touch charity money.”

“The signature on the offshore banking resolution matches the one on your marriage certificate, Mr. Mercer,” Lena said.

She slid a forensic handwriting analysis report across the table.

“It also matches the authorization signature on the four point six million dollars taken from the children’s housing fund,” Lena added.

Grant sat back in his chair as if he had been struck.

His hand reached for his water glass, but his fingers shook so much the water spilled onto the polished wood.

The puddle slowly spread toward the edge of the table, dripping onto the carpet.

“This wasn’t a business dispute, Grant,” I said, my voice quiet in the large room. “You stole from children who had nothing, just to keep your mother’s estate afloat.”