There was a brief pause on the line.

“Ah, Ms. Singh,” Vale said, a faint note of condescension in his tone. “I am familiar with your firm. You are taking on a great deal of unnecessary liability for a client who has nothing to offer you.”

“My client has the truth, Mr. Vale,” Nora said. “And she has the financial records of her late husband’s estate.”

“Those records are confidential property of the Whitmore Foundation,” Vale replied. “Any unauthorized disclosure will result in immediate civil and criminal prosecution.”

“We will let the federal judge decide what is confidential,” Nora said. “Goodbye, Mr. Vale.”

She reached over and tapped the red button on my screen, cutting off his response.

The office fell into a heavy silence.

Outside, the gray Connecticut sky was beginning to spit rain against the tall windows.

“He’s terrified,” Richard said, standing up from his chair.

He walked over to the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

“They both are,” Nora agreed, her fingers already back on her keyboard. “They know what we have. If they didn’t, Vale would never have called you directly.”