He reached down and lifted a thick, navy-blue binder from his briefcase.

He slid it across the table.

The heavy plastic cover made a dull scraping sound against the wood.

It stopped right in front of Vance.

“What is this?” Vance asked, his brow furrowing as he reached for the binder.

“That is five years of forensic financial audits,” my father said.

“It contains the complete records of Whitaker Construction’s accounts.”

“More specifically, it contains the records of the sub-accounts managed by your father, Martin Collins.”

Claire made a grab for the binder, but Vance put his hand over her wrist.

“Let me look at it first, Mrs. Whitaker,” Vance said, his tone suddenly cautious.

He flipped the binder open.

The room was completely quiet except for the rustle of turning pages.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the gray Columbus winter sky hung low over the city.

A light snow was beginning to fall, drifting past the glass.

I watched Vance’s eyes move rapidly across the columns of numbers.

His face lost its professional neutrality.

“This is…” Vance started, then stopped, clearing his throat.