“Why did you call me that night, Lila?” I asked.

“Because Ethan told me he was going to blame me for the missing funds,” she said, staring at her hands. “He had a power of attorney with my forged signature.”

“I figured as much,” I said.

“They barred me from the industry,” she whispered. “I cannot get a job at any firm in the state.”

“You are young enough to start over,” I said.

“And you?” she asked. “Are you happy?”

“I am solvent,” I said, placing a folder on the table. “These are the copies of the original wire logs. They prove you did not authorize the final transfers. Your lawyer can use them to avoid jail time.”

She took the folder, her fingers trembling.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked.

“I am not helping you,” I said, sliding out of the booth. “I am finishing Ethan.”

Ethan’s trial never happened.

He took a plea deal in exchange for a four-year sentence.

He was ordered to pay three million dollars in restitution, a sum he could never hope to raise.