“Goodbye, Clara.”

The line went dead with a soft beep.

The hallway fell completely silent, except for the hum of the vending machine nearby.

Patricia looked down at her damp leather shoes, her shoulders slumping.

She seemed to age ten years in a matter of seconds.

“She won’t help,” Patricia whispered to herself.

“She really won’t help.”

“Rachel is smart,” Robert said, adjusting his briefcase.

“She knows when to cut her losses, and she knows the government has a solid case.”

Patricia looked up at me, her expression a mix of defeat and hatred.

“You did this,” she said.

“No,” I said, looking her in the eye.

“Daniel did this when he decided to steal from his own wife and children.”

“And you helped him hide it.”

Patricia reached into her bag and pulled out a set of car keys, her hands shaking violently.

“I have to list the Boston properties,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

“I have to call the broker tonight.”

“You’ll have to sell the beach house too, Patricia,” I said.

“Daniel’s legal troubles are just beginning, and those federal lawyers aren’t cheap.”