Celeste Vale stood in the doorway, her designer handbag clutched tightly against her chest.

She was trembling, her perfect makeup contrasting with her pale skin.

She looked at Adrian, then at Margaret, sensing the sudden shift in the room.

“Adrian,” Celeste said, her voice shaking. “There are federal investigators in the lobby downstairs.”

Adrian stood up so fast his leather chair rolled back and hit the glass wall.

“Investigators?” he asked.

His voice cracked, the high-pitched sound echoing in the silent boardroom.

Celeste nodded, her manicured fingers digging into the leather of her designer bag.

“They have badges, Adrian,” she said.

“They are asking for you and the compliance records for the offshore real estate trust.”

Margaret did not flinch.

She remained seated, her spine perfectly straight against the high-backed leather chair.

“Sit down, Adrian,” Margaret said.

“Mother, we have to—”

“Sit down.”

The tone of Margaret’s voice was like ice cracking on a winter lake.

Adrian sank back into his chair, his face losing the last of its color.

The air in the room felt thick, smelling of expensive perfume and cold, stale coffee.