He walked to the edge of the mahogany table, leaning his palms on the polished wood.

“Every single document on that drive is a fabrication,” Graham said. “She has been planning this for months.”

I sat perfectly still, my hands folded in my lap.

The leather of my handbag felt cool against my wrist.

“I have no access to the firm’s central ledger, Graham,” I said quietly.

“You hired someone,” he spat, his face flushing a deep, angry red. “You spent my money to hire some third-rate hacker to plant files on our server.”

He turned back to Elliot, desperation written in the tight lines around his eyes.

“Elliot, think about it,” Graham said. “She has been bitter ever since the Highland Park gala.”

“You think I forged five years of bank statements?” I asked.

“Yes,” Graham shouted, his voice echoing off the glass walls. “Yes, you did.”

He looked at Elliot, his hands open in a pleading gesture.

“We have been partners for twelve years, Elliot,” Graham said. “You know me.”

“I thought I did,” Elliot said.