She was staying out of the dining room, just as we had planned.

Eleanor leaned over her husband’s shoulder, her eyes wide as she stared at the legal stamp on the front page.

“This is signed by Judge Vance,” Eleanor whispered.

“Yes,” I said. “He was very thorough.”

Richard turned the page, his reading glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose.

His face grew darker with every line he read.

“These are our project accounts,” Richard said, his voice barely a whisper. “The Maple Ridge development.”

“Exactly,” I said. “The funds were moved through three different shell companies before landing in a private account in the Cayman Islands.”

“That account is a trust for our retirement,” Derek stammered.

He was looking at Richard now, his hands held out in a pleading gesture.

“Richard, listen to me,” Derek said. “It’s a standard tax shelter. My accountant set it up. I can explain the whole thing.”

“You told me that money was paid to the concrete contractors, Derek,” Richard said.

He did not look up from the paper.