“I want your resignation,” I said. “And I want the deed to the Highland Park house.”

Graham let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“The house?” he said. “You think you’re taking the house?”

“I already have the house, Graham,” I said. “It was in the trust. The trust that my father set up, which you tried to borrow against.”

He stared at me, his mouth slightly open.

“You didn’t think I checked the signatures on those loan applications, did you?” I asked.

He did not answer.

The rain outside was heavier now, drumming against the glass.

The door to the boardroom clicked.

The heavy oak door slowly swung open.

The receptionist stood there, her face pale.

“Mr. Crane,” she said, her voice trembling. “There are some people downstairs.”

Elliot turned around. “Who is it?”

“They say they are from the regulatory compliance division,” she said.

Graham’s face drained of what little color he had left.

He looked at me, then at the flash drive on the table.

My phone on the table vibrated again.

I looked down at the screen of my phone.