“The court found the forensic accounting report quite convincing,” I said.

“What forensic accounting report?” Richard asked.

The older man’s voice was no longer warm or polite.

It was the tone he used when he was about to fire a subcontractor.

“The one detailing the transfers from your firm’s escrow account,” I said.

Derek stood up so fast his heavy dining chair scraped loudly against the oak floorboards.

“Shut up,” he hissed.

He glared down at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his tailored shirt.

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” he said.

“I have the bank routing numbers, Derek,” I said.

“They are listed on page twelve of the schedule attached to the injunction.”

Richard did not wait for Derek to offer the papers.

He reached across the table, his large hand snatching the document from Derek’s grasp.

Derek made a small, involuntary movement to pull it back, but stopped himself.

The silence in the room was thick, filled only by the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Through the double doors, I could hear the faint, rhythmic sound of Chef Laura chopping herbs.