“Not the firm,” I said. “Just you.”

I pointed the remote at the screen again and clicked the button.

The slide showing the bank transfers vanished.

A clean, black-and-white document took its place.

It was a shareholder agreement for Whitaker-Crane Advisory Holdings, dated three years ago, with recent amendments.

Elliot squinted at the screen.

His brow furrowed as he read the highlighted section.

“What is this?” Elliot asked.

“That is the voting rights registry,” I said.

“As of nine o’clock this morning, the majority interest in Whitaker-Crane has shifted.”

Graham stepped closer to the screen, his eyes scanning the lines.

“That’s impossible,” Graham said. “Elliot and I hold fifty-one percent combined.”

“You did,” I said.

“Until you leveraged your shares to secure the loan for the Highland Park expansion.”

“The loan you defaulted on last month when you moved those funds to the shell company.”

I clicked the remote one more time.

The document zoomed in on a specific signature line.

The entity listed as the primary creditor and now the largest shareholder was Bluebell Lane Capital.

“Bluebell Lane Capital,” Graham muttered, his brow furrowing.