“How?” I asked.

“I have files, Clara.”

“Files containing financial records that show you have been embezzling from our private charity fund.”

I stared at him, stunned for a fraction of a second before my composure returned.

“That is a lie,” I said.

“I have never touched the charity accounts.”

“The paper trail says otherwise,” Ethan said.

He smiled, but it was a cold, empty stretch of his lips.

“I have spent the last three weeks setting up the documentation.”

“It looks very real.”

“It shows transfers from the foundation to an offshore account in your name.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I did not let him see my chest rise and fall.

“No one will believe that,” I said.

“Your father will,” Ethan replied.

The mention of my father made my throat tighten.

My father was eighty-two, recovering from a stroke, and obsessed with the family reputation.

A scandal like that would kill him.

“He trusts me,” I said, though my voice sounded thinner than I wanted.

“He trusts his own legacy,” Ethan corrected.

“If I show him these documents, he will cut you out of his will immediately.”