The long mahogany table was polished to a high shine, reflecting the gray light from the tall arched windows.

Outside, a steady drizzle was falling over the city’s corporate district.

Grant stood at the head of the table, his tie loosened and his jacket undone.

He was leaning over a stack of papers, his face pale and slick with sweat.

Arthur Bell sat to his right, looking at a spreadsheet through his reading glasses.

Across from them sat three people in dark gray suits.

The woman in the center was Deputy Director Miller from the state financial regulatory agency.

She had sharp gray eyes and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun.

She looked up as the door clicked shut behind us.

“This is a private executive session,” Grant said, his voice cracking slightly as he saw me.

“Not anymore, Grant,” Lorna said, stepping forward.

“Emma, we are in the middle of resolving an administrative matter,” Arthur said, his voice cautious and pragmatic.

“There is nothing to resolve, Arthur,” I said, walking toward the center of the table.