“And the secondary authorization was signed using Bianca’s corporate credentials,” I added.

“I didn’t sign that,” Bianca said, standing up.

Her chair scraped loudly against the hardwood border of the carpet.

One of the compliance officers at the door took a half-step forward, his eyes locking on her.

“Sit down, Bianca,” Elliot said.

His voice was not loud, but it had the weight of thirty years of authority behind it.

Bianca sank back into her seat, her shoulders trembling.

“He told me it was a tax shelter,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to the floor. “He said it was for the partner bonus pool.”

“You signed corporate authorization forms for a private offshore account, Bianca,” Elliot said. “You are an executive director.”

“I trusted him,” she said.

She turned to Graham, her expression turning into something bitter and cold.

“You told me it was cleared by the compliance committee,” she hissed. “You said you had Elliot’s approval.”

Graham still did not look at her.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, disappearing into his sideburn.

“It was a temporary transfer,” Graham said, his voice barely audible. “To hedge against the market dip.”