This was Arthur’s favorite room, lined with dark oak bookshelves and green leather chairs.

On the desk lay a stack of mail addressed to Gavin.

I picked up a letter from a bank in the Cayman Islands.

“This is the account he used to hide the restaurant profits,” I said, showing it to Daniel.

“We will submit this to the federal investigators in the morning,” Daniel said, taking the envelope.

“It will ensure his sentence is served in a maximum-security facility.”

“And Brooke?” I asked.

“She signed the corporate tax returns as a witness,” Daniel said.

“She knew the funds were being diverted.”

“She will face the same charges of grand theft,” he said.

I walked around the desk and sat in the high-backed leather chair.

The leather creaked under my weight, cold and stiff.

I remembered sitting in this same room three years ago, listening to Gavin tell me that the business was failing.

I remembered how he had looked me in the eye, pretending to be worried about our future.

All the while, he was meeting Brooke in the downtown hotels, planning to strip me of everything.