“The board is already on my side,” he said, walking over to his desk.

“Arthur Bell realizes that a prolonged scandal will bankrupt us all.”

“Arthur is pragmatic, but he isn’t a criminal,” I said.

“He’s a businessman,” Grant corrected.

“And a liquidation vote will protect the remaining endowment.”

“You’re going to sell the house,” I said, looking at the oil painting of my father on the wall.

“Whitaker House will be demolished by the end of the month,” Grant said coldly.

“The land is worth triple the value of this rotting building.”

“My father built this place for the community,” I said, my fists clenching at my sides.

“Your father was a hypocrite who left you with nothing but debts and a failing name,” Grant sneered.

He stepped closer, the smell of whiskey heavy on his breath.

“By five o’clock today, the board will sign the dissolution papers.”

“The physical files will be legally destroyed as part of the corporate wind-down.”

“And there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it,” he whispered.

I stared at him, seeing the desperate stranger behind the familiar face of my husband.