He kept his arm around my shoulder, guiding me through the crowd with a steady, unhurried pace.

Inside, the marble lobby was cool and quiet, the noise of the street fading behind the heavy glass doors.

Margaret Wells was waiting for us near the elevators, alongside two men in dark gray suits.

“The district attorney is waiting for us in the third-floor conference room,” Margaret said.

We rode the elevator up in silence, the air thick with the scent of old paper and floor wax.

The conference room was large, with tall windows looking out over the city hall park.

A man in a navy suit stood up from the long wooden table as we entered.

“Alexander,” the man said, shaking Alexander’s hand. “Thank you for coming down.”

“Robert,” Alexander said. “This is Emma Hart.”

The district attorney bowed his head slightly to me.

“Ms. Hart,” he said. “I have reviewed the documents your representative delivered last night.”

He gestured to the thick manila folders spread across the table.

“The evidence of financial misconduct is substantial,” Robert said. “The invoices from the Zurich clinic were disguised as consultation fees for a corporate health initiative.”