Two men in dark windbreakers with yellow lettering escorted him toward a waiting black sedan.

The headline underneath was stark.

*Whitmore Group Managing Partner Indicted on Federal Fraud and Forgery Charges.*

I stared at the image, my thumb frozen on the glass.

“It’s live,” Grace said, her voice cool and steady beside me.

Margaret’s hand shook as she picked up her desk phone.

“Get me Arthur,” Margaret said into the receiver, her voice suddenly thin.

She listened for three seconds, then slammed the phone back onto its cradle.

“His office line is busy,” Margaret said, looking at the wall behind me.

“His office line will be busy for the next seventy-two hours, Margaret,” Grace said.

Grace laid a thick manila folder on the edge of the mahogany desk.

“The Southern District has been building this case for six months,” Grace said.

“They have the wire transfers from the Cayman accounts.”

“They also have the original trust documents Adrian tried to alter last autumn.”

Margaret did not touch the folder.

She looked at Lily, who was asleep in the portable carrier on the leather armchair.