“There is no need to drag this out,” Grant said, leaning forward. “The discrepancies are minor administrative errors.”

“They are not minor, Grant,” Lorna said, her voice sharp. “Three hundred thousand dollars is not an administrative error.”

I did not speak.

I unzipped my bag and pulled out the folder of documents I had gathered.

The paper from Bay Street Installations was on top.

Under the harsh fluorescent light of the conference room, the blue ink of the logo seemed to pop.

I stared at the technical specifications listed on the page.

My eyes drifted down past the billing address of the foundation.

My heart skipped a beat.

The delivery address was not Whitaker House.

It was not the corporate office on Bay Street either.

The destination listed was 1220 Elmwood Terrace.

That was my mother’s private cottage, the small stone house where she spent her final months.

I read the description of the service rendered.

It did not say *Security Camera Calibration*.

It said *Installation of Wall Safe, Model Sentinel-9, with reinforced steel mounting plates.*

My hands began to cold-sweat.