Grant reached for the document in front of him, a gold fountain pen in his hand.

“I am signing the updated restructuring agreement now,” Grant told the regulators.

“I advise you not to do that, Deputy Director Miller,” Marcus said, stepping to my side.

Marcus placed his leather briefcase on the table and popped the brass latches.

The sound was like two pistol shots in the quiet room.

“And who are you?” Miller asked, her eyes moving from Marcus to me.

“I am Marcus Reid, estate attorney for the late Thomas Whitaker,” he said. “And this is Emma Whitaker.”

“This is absurd,” Grant said, slammer his hand on the table. “They have no standing here. The board voted to give me executive authority.”

“That authority was obtained through fraud, Grant,” I said.

I laid the thick manila envelope in front of Deputy Director Miller.

“What is this?” Miller asked, her hands hovering over the paper.

“This is the complete forensic audit of the Whitaker House accounts for the last three years,” I said.

The room went completely silent except for the sound of rain tapping against the glass.