“Let’s make this quick,” Elias said, walking to his desk. “I have a conference call with Brussels in thirty minutes.”

He sat down and slid a thin document across the desk toward me.

“This is the revised settlement,” he said. “You keep the townhouse in Boston. You get a one-time payment of two million.”

“And the rest?” I asked.

“There is no rest,” he said, leaning back. “You sign this, or we go to court, and I drag this out until you are broke.”

I looked at the document, then back up at him.

“You really think I am that simple, Elias?”

“I think you are emotional,” he said. “And emotional people make poor financial decisions.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out the manila envelope.

I didn’t open it. I just dropped it onto the center of his clean mahogany desk.

It landed with a heavy thud.

Elias looked down at it, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What is this?”

“Arthur Vance,” I said.

The name seemed to hang in the air, freezing the warmth out of the room.

Elias did not touch the envelope.