“I know Julian’s business,” Harris said. “I know how much money moved through those accounts.”

“Julian’s accounts are his own,” I said.

“Not all of them,” Harris said. “Some of that money belongs to people who can make your life very short.”

The intercom speaker crackled again.

“Harris,” Julian’s voice came through, clear and cold.

Harris stopped. He looked up at the little black dome of the security camera in the corner.

“Julian,” Harris said. “I figured you were listening.”

“Leave my house,” Julian said.

“It’s not your house anymore, Julian,” Harris said. “And you aren’t in a position to give orders from a monitor.”

“I can turn this kitchen into an oven in three seconds,” Julian said.

Harris laughed, a dry, coughing sound.

“You won’t,” Harris said. “You’re too greedy to blow up your own wife.”

He turned his back on the speaker and focused on me again.

“Where is the ledger, Clara?”

“I don’t have it,” I said.

“He hid it in the pantry,” Harris said. “Or maybe behind the wine rack. You know where he keeps the keys.”