“We’ll see about that,” I said, turning on my heel.

I walked down the hallway to the communications office.

The door was locked, but I had the master key my father had given me years ago.

I turned the brass key in the lock and pushed the door open.

Vanessa was sitting at her desk, packing her personal belongings into a cardboard box.

A framed photograph of her and Grant at a gala lay face down on the desk.

Her eyes were red, her mascara smudged at the corners.

“Emma,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“He’s going to let you take the fall, Vanessa,” I said, stepping into the room.

She looked down at the box, her hands trembling as she wrapped a ceramic mug in tissue paper.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“He’s liquidating the foundation today,” I said.

“He’s destroying the archives.”

“Once the physical records are gone, the only paper trail left will be the digital transfers.”

“And those transfers have your digital signature on them, not his.”

Vanessa stopped wrapping the mug.