She was a tall woman in her late thirties, wearing a tailored charcoal suit and a crisp white shirt.

Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat, professional bun, and her eyes were incredibly sharp.

“Richard,” she said, stepping into the room. “Tell me we have enough to put Thomas Vale in a cell.”

“We’re getting there,” Richard said, introducing us. “Nora, this is Emily Carter.”

Nora walked over to me and extended her hand.

Her grip was firm and confident.

“I’ve read the preliminary files Richard sent me,” Nora said, sitting down in the armchair opposite me. “What Margaret and Vale have done to you is nothing short of extortion.”

She pulled a slim, silver laptop from her leather briefcase and set it on her knees.

“Let’s look at this active email session first,” Nora said, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Richard turned his monitor so she could see the screen.

“Vale’s office is using a VPN, but they made a mistake,” Nora muttered, her eyes reflecting the screen’s code. “They routing through a local server in Stamford. The digital signature matches Vale’s firm.”