“Claire,” Vance Harrison’s voice came through, dry and thin.

“We are convening the board at the metropolitan office in forty minutes to ratify the operational transition,” Vance said.

“The transfer is illegal, Vance,” I said.

“The paperwork is signed, recorded, and filed,” he replied. “If you want to protect whatever dignity you have left, I suggest you attend.”

The line went dead before I could answer.

Daniel pulled a heavy black flash drive from his laptop and slipped it into his pocket.

Rachel gathered the authenticated Boston letters, sliding them into her leather briefcase.

“Let’s go,” I said.

The rain had started again, heavy drops drumming against the windshield of Rachel’s sedan as we left the Concord estate.

The city lights smeared across the wet asphalt as we drove toward the metropolitan financial district.

No one spoke during the twenty-minute drive.

Inside the glass tower, the air-conditioning was cold and smelled of floor wax.

The security guard at the desk didn’t look up as we entered the private elevator.

The double doors of the main boardroom on the fourteenth floor were heavy oak, polished to a dull sheen.