“I need to consult with senior counsel,” the young lawyer whispered.

He did not wait for Ethan’s permission.

He turned and left the room, his shoes squeaking on the polished hardwood.

The heavy glass door clicked shut behind him.

I sat still in my chair, my hands folded over my purse.

The leather of my bag was cool against my palms.

I watched a bead of sweat trace a path down the side of Ethan’s jaw.

“Ethan,” Arthur said.

His voice was low, carrying the weight of thirty years of partnership.

“Is this true?”

Ethan did not look at Arthur.

He looked at the speakerphone, then at me.

“It’s a setup,” Ethan said.

His voice was thin, dry.

“It’s a technicality in the offshore filing.”

“The federal government does not send field agents for a technicality,” Arthur said.

Arthur stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over the polished mahogany table.

He looked at the two other board members sitting at the far end of the room.

They had remained silent, watching the collapse of the man they had toasted just last month.