“He is right, Emma,” she said. “We need the law on our side before we face Helen.”

My lungs burned as we climbed the concrete steps toward the fourth floor.

The air in the stairwell was cold and smelled of damp plaster.

Our shoes clicked sharply against the metal treads.

I clutched the thick manila envelope against my chest.

Inside was the forensic audit and Vanessa Hart’s signed confession.

We reached the heavy oak door of the fourth floor.

Marcus grabbed the brass handle and pulled it open.

The hallway was quiet, carpeted in deep green wool that muffled our footsteps.

At the far end, the double doors of the boardroom stood slightly ajar.

I could hear the low murmur of voices from inside.

I took a deep breath, smoothing down my wool coat.

My hands were shaking, but my grip on the envelope was firm.

“Let’s go,” I whispered.

We walked down the corridor, Lorna keeping pace on my left, Marcus on my right.

I pushed the heavy double doors open and stepped into the room.

The boardroom was filled with the smell of old paper and rain-soaked wood.