A moment later, a tall man in a dark gray suit opened the inner office door.

He had graying hair and a serious, lined face.

“Daniel,” John said, stepping forward to shake my father’s hand. “Come in.”

He looked at me and offered a small, polite smile.

“And you must be Sophie,” John said.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

We followed him into his office.

The room was filled with tall wooden bookshelves and cardboard boxes of legal files.

A large mahogany desk sat near the window, overlooking the rainy streets.

John closed the door behind us.

“Sit down, please,” John said, gesturing to two leather chairs.

My father sat and immediately placed the manila folder on the desk.

He opened it, revealing the neatly printed spreadsheets and bank records.

“This is what you asked for,” my father said.

John pulled the folder closer and put on his reading glasses.

He began flipping through the pages.

The room was silent except for the rustle of paper and the rain hitting the glass.

“These are the wire transfers from the construction escrow account,” my father explained.