The silver laptop screen still cast a pale blue glow across the mahogany desk.

I lunged toward it, my eyes darting to the green progress bar.

Sixty-eight percent.

The fan of the laptop whirred softly in the quiet room.

I looked at the window, where the winter wind rattled the glass pane against its frame.

Outside, the snow was falling faster now, coating the dark lawns of the estate in white.

I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white.

If he came back up now, I would have no excuse.

I looked back at the screen, watching the digital files transfer one by one.

Annika’s words from our meeting yesterday echoed in my mind.

“We need the exact ledger numbers, Monica,” she had said, her sharp eyes fixing on me across her glass desk. “Without the proof of the offshore transfers, he will drag the divorce out for years and leave you with nothing.”

I had promised her I would get them.

Now, the files were copying.

Seventy-five percent.

I clicked on another folder in the directory, labeled ‘L-Three Consulting.’