I reached my door at the end of the hall.

A thin line of yellow light showed under the frame.

My chest tightened.

I always turned the lights off before leaving.

I reached for the brass doorknob.

It turned easily in my hand.

I pushed the door open an inch.

The scent of turpentine was thick, but there was another smell beneath it.

It was an expensive French perfume.

Jasmine and amber.

“He will never suspect the digital trail,” a woman said.

I froze.

I knew that voice.

It belonged to Clara Bennett.

Her husband, Arthur, had been Daniel’s chief rival until his sudden death last year.

“Emily is too simple to look at the offshore accounts,” Daniel’s voice replied.

He was sitting on my wooden stool.

His tailored charcoal suit looked out of place against the paint-splattered floor.

Clara stood near my easel.

She wore a black silk coat and held a glass of my cheap whiskey.

She ran a manicured finger over the edge of my blank canvas.

“And the merger?” Clara asked.

“The board will approve it on Monday,” Daniel said. “Arthur’s legacy will be ours.”

He reached out and took Clara’s hand.

She smiled, her red lips curving in the dim light of my halogen work lamps.

“You promised me his seat on the board, Daniel,” she murmured.

“You will have it,” he said. “Once the files are fully encrypted and the transfer is complete.”

I stood in the shadow of the doorway, my breath shallow.

My hand tightened around the leather strap of my shoulder bag.

Inside the bag was a silver flash drive.

I had taken it from Daniel’s desk in the penthouse study an hour before our dinner, thinking it held his personal tax returns.

Now, the pieces fell into place.

The hostile takeover.

Arthur Bennett’s fatal stroke after his company collapsed.

They had planned it together.