I walked toward the grand staircase, heading up to the second floor.

The noise of the ballroom began to fade as I reached the quiet hallway of the library.

The heavy oak doors of the library were slightly ajar.

I pushed them open and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, smelled of old leather and paper, and a fire crackled in the hearth.

Julian Leprince was standing by the window, a glass of scotch in his hand.

“You’re on time,” Julian said, turning to face me.

“I want to get this over with,” I said, keeping my hands steady.

“Did you bring the document?” he asked.

I reached into my small clutch purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

It was a fake confession, admitting to the contamination of the Leprince Corp product line.

“Here,” I said, holding it out.

Julian walked over and took the paper from my hand.

He unfolded it, scanning the lines with a satisfied smirk.

“Very good,” he said. “This is exactly what the board needs to see.”

“And the money?” I asked.