“The registration documents for Blue Star list your personal email address as the primary contact,” Elliot said.

The rain outside seemed to grow louder, a steady, rhythmic drumming.

“And the bank routing number matches the account we just verified,” Elliot added.

Graham did not look at the paper.

“There must be an administrative error,” Graham said.

“Donald Vance doesn’t make administrative errors,” Elliot said. “The signatures on the disbursement authorizations are yours.”

“They are digital signatures,” Graham said. “Anyone could have copied them.”

“They were authorized from your office computer,” Elliot said. “Using your personal security fob.”

Graham looked at the paper, then at the door, as if calculating his chances of running.

“The compliance officers downstairs aren’t here for a routine check, Graham,” Elliot said.

“Who called them?” Graham asked, his voice cracking.

“I did,” Elliot said.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Graham looked at his long-time partner as if he had been struck.

“You called the regulators on your own firm?” Graham asked.

“To save the firm,” Elliot said. “And to save myself.”

He leaned forward, placing his face inches from Graham’s.