The silence in the boardroom was thick, broken only by the faint hum of the heating vents.

“You should have checked your personal accounts this morning, Richard,” Ethan said.

Vance paused, his hand still resting on his jacket pocket.

“What are you talking about?” Vance asked.

“Carl Brenner,” Ethan said.

The name hung in the cold air of the room.

I watched Vance’s face carefully.

The corner of his left eye twitched, just once.

“I don’t know any Carl Brenner,” Vance said, his voice flat.

“You do,” Ethan said. “He’s the man you paid to clear out the tenements on Tenth Street.”

“That was a standard property transition,” Vance said.

“You paid him through a shell company registered in Panama,” Ethan said.

“You paid him to harass the tenants, including Mary Grace Fitzgerald.”

“And when Mary wouldn’t leave, you had Brenner escalate.”

“Ethan, stop this,” Vance said, but his voice had lost its sharp edge.

“Paul,” Ethan said, looking down at his attorney. “Did the files transfer?”

Paul looked at his tablet, his fingers tapping the glass rapidly.

“They just cleared,” Paul said, a slow smile spreading across his face.