I walked quietly down the carpeted hallway, my hand resting on the holster at my hip.

Through the gap in the door, I could see Michael.

He was frantically stuffing documents into a portable shredder.

On his desk, his laptop was open, the blue screen reflecting off his pale face.

I pushed the door open slowly, the hinges making no sound.

Michael didn’t look up until I stood directly in front of his desk.

“It’s too late, Michael,” I said.

He jumped back, his sleeve catching a stack of papers and sending them scattering across the floor.

His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and frantic.

“Emerson,” he gasped, his hand hovering over the power button of his laptop. “What are you doing here?”

“The investigators have Helen,” I said, keeping my voice flat. “She confessed.”

He froze, his hand trembling above the keyboard.

“She told them everything,” I continued. “About the doctor, the forged signatures, and the money sent to your accounts.”

Michael’s face drained of color, his mouth opening slightly but no sound coming out.

The shredder beside him hummed, swallowing the last page of a document.