Helen reached out and closed my laptop with a firm, decisive snap of her hand.

“We have safeguards in place,” she whispered, leaning in close. “We have people who will take the fall long before the mud reaches me.”

“You mean Grant?” I asked.

“Grant is my son,” she said simply. “But he is also replaceable.”

A cold chill ran down my spine at the detachment in her voice.

“You would let your own son go to prison?” I asked.

“He won’t go to prison,” she said. “Vanessa Hart has been very cooperative in signing the compliance reports.”

She smiled again, a triumphant look in her eyes.

“Vanessa was the one who authorized the wire transfers through her consultancy firm,” Helen said. “The paper trail stops with her.”

“She won’t let you do that to her,” I said.

“She won’t have a choice,” Helen replied. “By the time the board meets tomorrow morning, the narrative will be set.”

She picked up her leather gloves from the counter and began pulling them back on.

“I suggest you go home, Emma,” she said. “Get some rest.”