An officer stepped in, holding a tablet.

“Detective,” the officer said. “We just got the digital search warrant results.”

Everyone in the room turned to look.

The detective, a tall man named Miller, reached out and took the tablet from the officer.

The screen cast a pale blue glow over his knuckles as he scrolled.

I watched Grant’s hand twitch toward his tie, his fingers tightening around the silk.

“What is the source of the upload?” Detective Miller asked, his eyes scanning the document.

The officer pointed to a line of text on the screen.

“The IP address is registered to a private residence in Corona del Mar,” the officer said.

“Mr. Whitmore’s personal home.”

Lila let out a sharp, breathless laugh that sounded like glass breaking.

“His home,” Lila whispered, her voice shaking.

“He told me he was at the office when the filing went through.”

Grant took a step toward the detective, his palms open in a gesture of false innocence.

“That is my home network, yes, but Lila had the password,” Grant said quickly.

“She stayed there often when my wife was out of town.”