“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To a meeting,” I said.

“Don’t go to the office today, Bianca.”

“Call in sick.”

She nodded slowly, her face pale.

I left her sitting in the booth and walked out into the cool morning air.

I sat in my car and plugged the flash drive into my laptop.

The screen lit up with folders of financial spreadsheets, audio files, and scanned wire transfers.

I clicked on one of the audio files.

Graham’s voice came through my car speakers, sharp and commanding.

*”You’ll sign it because I tell you to sign it, Bianca. Without me, you’re just another mid-level analyst who can’t pay her rent.”*

I closed the laptop and put it away.

I called my attorney, Raymond.

He answered on the first ring.

“Arden,” he said. “Are we ready?”

“I have the proof,” I said.

“The offshore routing numbers, the forged signatures, and the audio recording.”

“Excellent,” Raymond said. “The trust transfer cleared at midnight.”

“You now hold fifty-one percent of the voting shares of Whitaker-Crane Advisory Holdings.”

“The debt buyback is complete.”