She looked at the locked door, then back at the papers on the desk.

“Your father,” she whispered.

“Theodore Hartwell,” I said.

“He knows everything.”

“And he has already cleared the legal team to file a formal complaint with the federal prosecutors.”

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the cool glass.

“By tomorrow morning, there will be a warrant for your arrest.”

“Nolan promised me we were safe,” Sloane said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

She finally sat down in her leather chair, her shoulders sagging.

“Nolan is a fool,” I said.

“He thinks he is the smartest man in the room, but he is sloppy.”

“He used you to do the heavy lifting, Sloane.”

“When the police show up, he will blame you for the entire discrepancy.”

“He will say he was just a trusting husband who didn’t look closely at the books.”

Sloane stared at the desk, her eyes darting back and forth as she processed my words.

The sound of rain hitting the windowpane behind her was the only noise in the quiet office.

“What do you want, Evelyn?” she asked quietly.