The silence that returned to the room was heavy and absolute.

Graham looked down at his hands, which were resting flat on the mahogany table.

The gold band on his left ring finger caught the light from the window.

“She signed it,” he said, more to himself than to me.

“She signed whatever Elliot put in front of her to keep herself out of a courtroom.”

“Of course she did,” I said.

“Bianca is a survivor, Graham.”

“She was only ever loyal to the money you gave her.”

Graham stood up from the table, his movements slow and deliberate.

The arrogance that had defined him for fifteen years seemed to drain out of his posture, leaving him looking smaller.

He walked toward me, stopping just a few feet away.

The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the faint smell of rain coming through the ventilation system.

“Arden,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, quiet register.

“We don’t have to let this destroy everything.”

“It’s already destroyed,” I said.

“No, it isn’t,” he insisted, stepping closer.

“The firm is trying to protect itself.”