Some believed me.

Others wanted to wait and see.

By mid-afternoon, the sky had turned a dark, bruised purple.

I sat alone in my office, the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room.

My desk phone rang.

I picked it up.

“Claire,” Elena’s voice came through, fast and low.

“Did you find something?” I asked, sitting up straight.

“I’m sitting in my car across from the bank,” she said. “My contact came through with the internal loan origination files.”

I held my breath.

“And?”

“The signatures on those loan approvals,” Elena said. “They all went through the same desk.”

“Whose desk?” I asked.

“The regional vice president of lending,” Elena said. “A man named Arthur Pendelton.”

She paused, and I could hear the sound of papers rustling over the line.

“Claire,” Elena said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m looking at his personal bank statements. He received a wire transfer of fifty thousand dollars from a shell company registered in Delaware.”

“Who owns the shell company?” I asked, my heart racing.

“The registration documents are signed by someone we both know,” Elena said.