“And leave you with the tax liabilities,” Rachel added.

We left Sloane staring at the bare walls of her living room and drove to the Whitmore offices.

The glass doors of the corporate lobby were locked, but the police had already bypassed the security desk.

Graham was in his corner office, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window.

His tie was loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up.

Vance Harrison was there too, arguing with a detective near the reception desk.

“This is a private enterprise,” Vance shouted, his face red.

“You cannot seize these servers without a federal representative present.”

“We have the state attorney’s authorization,” the detective replied, ignoring him.

Two officers were loading cardboard boxes with file folders from Graham’s personal safe.

Graham turned around when he heard my footsteps on the hardwood floor.

“Claire,” he said, taking a step toward me.

“We can talk about this.”

“Don’t speak to her,” Rachel said, stepping in front of me.

Daniel was already at Graham’s assistant’s desk, downloading files from the local network.

“I have the board resolutions,” Daniel called out.

He turned his monitor toward us.