Ethan was waiting for us in the lobby.

“Daniel,” Ethan said, stepping forward.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Any updates?” my father asked.

“Martin’s keycard was used at the side entrance five minutes ago,” Ethan said.

My father stopped walking.

“Did he get in?”

“No,” Ethan said.

“The system flagged it and locked the door. He’s gone.”

“Good,” my father said.

“Let’s go to my office.”

We walked down the long hallway lined with framed photographs of our construction projects.

I sat on the leather sofa in my father’s office while he and Ethan stood by the desk.

They looked at a laptop screen, analyzing the frozen accounts.

“Martin spent over three hundred thousand dollars of company money in the last month alone,” Ethan said.

“On what?” my father asked.

“Luxury travel, country club fees, and a down payment on a boat,” Ethan said.

“He was bleeding us dry,” my father said, his voice cold.

Suddenly, the intercom on the desk buzzed.

The receptionist’s voice came through, sounding panicked.

“Mr. Whitaker?” she said.

“Your wife is downstairs.”

My father looked at the speaker.