She slid the document across the sticky Formica table toward me.

It was a bank statement from a regional institution in Wyoming.

At the top, the primary account holder’s name was listed as Chloe Vance.

“I don’t understand,” I said, scanning the columns of numbers. “You said he opened accounts in your name.”

“He did,” Melanie said. “He used my stolen credentials to set up the shell companies that bill our firm for dummy consulting services.”

She pointed a manicured finger at a line item.

“The firm pays the shell companies,” she explained. “That money goes into the accounts Lucas opened under my name.”

She traced her finger across the page to a wire transfer.

“But the money doesn’t stay there,” she said. “Within twenty-four hours of every deposit, it gets cleared out.”

I looked at the receiving account number.

It matched the account at the top of the page.

Chloe’s account.

“He’s embezzling,” I said.

“Directly from the partners’ discretionary fund,” Melanie nodded. “Over four hundred thousand dollars in the last eighteen months alone.”

My chest felt tight, the air in the diner suddenly smelling of burnt grease and old floor wax.