My phone vibrated again in my pocket, the screen lighting up with a text message notification from my attorney.

I reached into my coat pocket and wrapped my fingers around the cold glass of my phone.

Daniel did not wait for me to speak.

With a grunt of effort, he jerked his hands in opposite directions.

The thick, textured paper resisted for a fraction of a second before it gave way.

A sharp, tearing sound filled the quiet room.

He ripped the contract completely in half.

He did it again, stacking the halves and tearing them into quarters.

White flakes of paper dust drifted down onto his father’s polished mahogany desk.

Daniel breathed heavily through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling.

“There,” he muttered, dropping the shredded pieces onto the desk.

“It’s gone, Emily.”

“The original copy is gone.”

He looked up at me, a desperate, sweaty smile breaking through his panic.

“You have no proof of the personal loan now.”

“It’s just your word against mine in court.”

Richard Carter did not move from his leather chair behind the desk.