“Derek,” Arthur said, his voice flat. “We need to talk.”

“Of course,” Derek said. “But let’s have a drink first.”

“I don’t want a drink,” Arthur said. “I want to know why Roger called me ten minutes ago about a forensic audit.”

Eleanor looked between her husband and her son, her brow furrowing.

“What audit?” she asked. “Arthur, what are you talking about?”

“Derek has some explaining to do,” Arthur said, walking past his son into the living room.

We followed him into the spacious room, where the fireplace was crackling, throwing warm light across the leather sofas.

On the coffee table, a silver tray held a crystal decanter of whiskey and four glasses.

Arthur did not sit down.

He stood near the hearth, his hands behind his back, looking at his son with cold, critical eyes.

“Roger says someone sent them copies of the escrow transfers from the last fiscal year,” Arthur said.

Derek stood near the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

“It is a misunderstanding, Father,” Derek said. “A disgruntled employee trying to make trouble before the merger.”