“That’s insane,” I said. “Carl Brenner is a criminal.”

“We know that,” Paul said. “But Vance has the police report.”

“He’s framing it as Ethan’s personal mess dragging down the stock price,” Paul said.

He opened the heavy oak door, and the sound of arguing washed over us.

The boardroom was enormous, with a polished mahogany table in the center.

A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showed the snow falling over the city.

Ethan was sitting at the far end of the table.

He looked perfectly calm, his hands clasped together on the wood.

His dark suit was immaculate, but his face looked as though it were carved from stone.

At the other end of the table stood a tall man with silver hair.

He wore a tailored gray suit and a silver watch that caught the light.

“Ah, Paul,” the silver-haired man said. “And who is this?”

“This is Evelyn Higgins, Richard,” Paul said, closing the door behind us.

“She is Mary Grace Fitzgerald’s neighbor,” Paul added.

Richard Vance smiled, but his eyes remained cold and empty.

“The neighbor,” Vance said, looking me up and down.