“Monica?” she asked, her eyes darting from my face to the ringing telephone. “I’m sorry to interrupt. The driver just dropped off the microgreens, and I wasn’t sure where you wanted the extra crates.”

The landline clicked, and the automated machine picked up the call.

Arthur Vance’s voice filled the quiet study, amplified by the digital speaker.

“Derek, it’s Arthur,” the voice said, sounding thin and strained. “Call me the second you get this. The auditors are moving faster than we thought. They’re already requesting the transfer logs for the L-Three accounts.”

The machine beeped and went silent.

Laura looked at the phone, then back at me, her expression neutral but her eyes observant.

“Just put the crates in the pantry for now, Laura,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I will be down in just a moment to help you.”

She nodded once, her gaze lingering on the closed laptop, before she turned and headed back toward the kitchen.

My chest heaved as I waited for her footsteps to fade down the hallway.