My hand was on the brass handle when his desk phone on the boardroom table began to ring again.

The red light on the console flashed, a steady, rhythmic blink.

It was the private line.

The one only three people had.

Graham looked at the phone, then at me.

The light continued to flash in the quiet room.

Graham reached out, his hand hovering over the console, and pressed the speaker button.

The line clicked open.

It was not Bianca’s voice, but Arthur Vance’s administrative assistant, her tone tight and professional.

“Mr. Vance’s office,” she said.

“Graham, are you still in the boardroom?”

“I am,” Graham said, his voice instantly smoothing out into his practiced client-facing tone.

“What is it, Sarah?”

“Ms. Bianca Reed has just left the building,” Sarah said.

“She requested that her personal effects be couriered to her residence.”

“She also left a signed copy of the disclosure agreement for Mr. Crane.”

There was a brief pause on the line.

“She did not leave a message for you,” Sarah added.

“Thank you, Sarah,” Graham said.

He hit the button to disconnect the call.