Richard did not look down at his own screen, which was still glowing with Daniel’s name.

“You should answer him,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

“Daniel is panicking,” Richard said, his voice remaining low and calm.

“He has every reason to,” I replied.

I took a slow breath and gripped the folder tighter under my arm.

With my free hand, I reached into my large leather shoulder bag and pulled out a second set of documents.

These were not the ones I had just taken from his desk.

These were the bound pages my forensic accountant, Marcus, had delivered to my office late yesterday evening.

I laid the heavy, spiral-bound report on the edge of the mahogany desk between us.

Richard’s eyes flicked down to the pale blue cover, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What is that?” he asked.

“This is the paper trail you thought you buried two years ago,” I said.

The rain whipped against the glass above us, a sudden gust of wind rattling the metal frame of the skylight.