“You’ll destroy my reputation,” I said. “I won’t be able to get a contract in this city again.”

“Then I suggest you start typing in your routing number,” she said.

“I won’t do it, Megan.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said, and the line went dead.

I set the phone on the laminate counter, my hand shaking slightly.

I knew she wasn’t bluffing.

Megan had always been willing to burn down the house just to warm her hands by the fire.

I looked at the kitchen clock; it was nearly nine in the evening.

I had exactly twelve hours before she made the call that could end my career.

I walked to the closet, pulled out my metal filing cabinet, and began searching through my tax documents and business records.

I needed to see exactly what she could use against me.

Most of my jobs were fully permitted, but there were three properties in the historic district where the owners had insisted on quick fixes to bypass the city’s ancient, bureaucratic backlog.

If those owners were contacted by an investigator, they would protect themselves, not me.