He kept his eyes fixed on Callum.

“Mr. Prescott,” the man said, his voice flat and dry. “I am Special Agent Harris, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Callum did not move.

The phone in his hand vibrated again, the low buzz rattling against his palm.

“I am in the middle of a board meeting,” Callum said.

His voice sounded thin, stripped of its usual weight.

“The meeting is over, Callum,” Diane Vance said from the doorway.

She stepped aside, allowing the two agents to enter the wider space of the hallway.

The second agent, a younger man with a pale face, held out a sealed manila envelope.

“We have a grand jury subpoena for the physical hard drives and paper files of the executive suite,” the younger agent said.

Callum looked past them, toward the long table inside the boardroom.

The rain was streaking the glass behind the directors, turning the Chicago skyline into grey smears.

None of the board members would meet his eyes.

“This is a mistake,” Callum said, his knuckles still white around his phone. “My chief counsel, Martin Voss, is on his way.”