I remained silent, watching the way her fingers clutched the leather of her bag.

The young woman who had stood on the stage an hour ago, smiling for the cameras as the new face of my life’s work, had vanished.

In her place stood someone who looked very young, very tired, and very afraid.

“He lied to you, Lila,” I said quietly.

“Vivian, please,” Diane murmured, warning me with a glance.

“It’s fine, Diane,” I said, stepping around my attorney. “Let her speak.”

Lila unzipped her bag with a clumsy, jerky motion.

She pulled out a small, black external hard drive and a thin, leather-bound notebook.

“I have his personal tax ledgers,” Lila said, holding them out as if they were hot.

I looked at the items in her hand but did not reach for them.

“Grant kept two sets of books for the Harbor Point phase,” she said, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “One for the investors, and one for his private accounts.”

“And how did you get those?” Diane asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the black drive.