“I live comfortably,” I said, closing the door and locking it behind her. “I don’t owe anyone anything.”

“An admirable sentiment,” Eleanor said, walking over to the dining table. “But comfort is relative.”

She unzipped her leather portfolio and pulled out a thick document printed on heavy, cream-colored paper.

She laid it flat on the wooden table.

“This is a non-disclosure and settlement agreement,” she said.

I stayed near the door, keeping my distance.

“Thirty-five million,” I said, repeating the figure from the PDF.

“Thirty-five million dollars, tax-free, routed through a private offshore structure,” Eleanor said. “It will be deposited into an account in your name by noon tomorrow.”

“And what do you want for thirty-five million dollars?” I asked.

Eleanor sat down in one of my wooden dining chairs, smoothing her coat.

“First, you will hand over the black flash drive you took from Julian’s study,” she said.

“I don’t have it here,” I lied.

She didn’t challenge me; she simply continued.

“Second, Clara will sign a recantation,” Eleanor said. “She will state that her previous allegations against Gareth were the result of emotional distress and confusion.”