He gestured around the messy room with the poker.

“You and that lawyer friend of yours,” he said. “You think you can lock me out.”

“The police are on their way, Mark,” I lied, trying to keep my voice steady.

He didn’t look scared.

He looked at the broken drawer he had just opened.

Inside was a small, black metal strongbox.

His eyes lit up.

“You’re lying,” Mark said. “If the cops were coming, you wouldn’t have come in alone.”

He reached down and grabbed the strongbox.

“This is what I need,” he said. “The rest of this place can rot.”

I took a step into the room, keeping my eyes on his hands.

“There’s nothing in there for you,” I said.

“We’ll see about that,” he said.

He slammed the box onto the desk and tried to pry it open with the poker.

“You won’t find the ledger in there,” I said.

He paused, his hand hovering over the metal lid.

He looked up at me, his brow furrowing.

“What do you know about the ledger?” he asked.

“I know everything,” I said. “I know about the 1998 accounts.”