“It was approved by the committee.”

“The committee was given falsified appraisal reports,” I said.

I looked at Evelyn, who gave a brief, tight nod.

“I provided the original appraisals from my personal archives,” I told him.

“The ones you kept in the study at the beach house.”

Victor looked at me with something resembling horror.

“You gave them my private files?” he asked.

“They were my files too, Victor,” I said.

“I paid for the house.”

“I paid for the land.”

“I paid for the very desk you sat at when you signed those papers.”

He took a step toward me, but the young assistant immediately moved to stand between us.

Victor stopped, his shoulders slumping.

“Claire, I made mistakes,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I was under so much pressure.”

“The market was shifting.”

“I did what I had to do to keep us afloat.”

“You did what you had to do to keep Brooke in that penthouse,” I said.

The rain outside had turned into a steady, gray sheet, obscuring the lights of the bay.

The wind rattled the glass doors again.