“Thank you, Elliot,” I said.

He did not look up as we walked out of the office.

We walked down to the boardroom, where the long table was covered in financial printouts and legal briefs.

“We need to draft the statement for the press,” Maren said, sitting down.

“The local papers are already calling the front desk.”

“Keep it simple,” I said, sitting opposite her.

“Focus on the restructuring.”

“We are separating the advisory business from the investment arm.”

“The clients need to know their money is safe.”

“And we need to change the name,” she said.

“Whitaker-Crane is dead.”

“What are you going to call it?”

I looked down at my hands, which were resting on the polished wood of the table.

“Arden Advisory Group,” I said.

“It has a clean ring to it,” she said, typing on her tablet.

We spent the next four hours going through the accounts one by one.

The damage was extensive, but it was not terminal.

Graham had been clever, but he had been greedy.

He had left a trail of digital crumbs that Maren’s team was already piecing together.