The larger of the forensic investigators stepped closer to Victor.

“The phone, Mr. Hayes,” the man said.

Victor looked at the door leading to the emergency stairs.

For a second, I thought he was going to run.

He was fifty-two years old, wearing an eight-thousand-dollar suit, and he looked like a cornered animal.

“Take it,” Victor said suddenly.

He shoved the phone into the investigator’s hand with enough force to make the man stumble back.

“You’ll hear from my private counsel within the hour,” Victor said.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the reception desk.

Nobody stopped him.

Evelyn watched him go, her expression completely unreadable.

“Are you alright, Claire?” Nathan asked, stepping closer to me.

The smell of his expensive cologne, something woody and clean, filled the space between us.

“Don’t,” I said, stepping back.

“Claire, I had to do this,” Nathan said.

“He was going to ruin all of us.”

“You knew about the March transfer for three years, Nathan,” I said.

Nathan looked down at his shoes.

“I didn’t have the proof until last week,” he said.

“But you knew,” I repeated.