I couldn’t focus on the numbers on my screen.

At exactly three o’clock, my personal cell phone buzzed on the desk.

The screen lit up.

It was a text message from an unknown number with a local area code.

I picked up the phone and tapped the notification.

The message read: *Avery, we need to talk. It’s Kayla.*

My finger hovered over the screen.

A second message appeared immediately below the first.

*He is going to lose everything, and he is taking me down with him,* the text read.

I stared at the glowing screen, my thumb trembling.

A third message popped up, accompanied by an image file.

*I have the text messages,* the message read. *The ones where he plans how to hide the money from you before his grandmother died. I’ll give them to you, but we need to make a deal.*

I stared at the image attachment.

It was a screenshot of a text message thread between Scott and Kayla, dated three months before his grandmother passed away.

The words on the screen were clear and damning.