“Claire is experiencing some emotional instability following the divorce,” Patricia told the board, gesturing vaguely with her hand.

“I have the forensic audit right here, Patricia,” I said, my voice remaining calm and level.

I pulled the first thick stack of documents from Elena’s briefcase.

I slid them across the table toward Richard Sterling, who sat closest to me.

“This is the loan application for the North Center development,” I said.

Sterling put on his reading glasses, his liver-spotted hands shaking as he picked up the paper.

“That loan was secured by our internal capital,” Sterling said, frowning as he read.

“Look at page four,” I said. “Look at the guarantor signature.”

Sterling flipped the pages, the paper rustling loudly in the quiet room.

Harrison leaned over his mother’s shoulder to look.

“That is Claire’s signature,” Harrison muttered, his eyes widening.

“I never signed that document,” I said. “I was in San Francisco the day that notary stamp was applied.”

I threw a second document onto the table, the white sheets scattering across the mahogany.

“This is my passport log and my flight manifest from that exact week,” I said.