Patricia stood up, her beaded purse slipping from her lap and hitting the floor with a soft thud.

“Those are private family documents,” Patricia said.

“They are foundation documents,” Thomas corrected her. “Which makes them subject to federal charity laws.”

He turned the page on his folder, his fingers moving methodically.

“I accessed the vault this morning with a deputy sheriff,” Thomas said.

Mark’s head snapped up, his jaw tightening.

“You had no right,” Mark said. “You had no warrant to search this house.”

“I had the executor’s permission,” Thomas said, looking directly at me. “And I had a court order signed at nine o’clock yesterday evening.”

He pulled a thick stack of bank statements from his briefcase.

The paper was crisp and white, looking out of place against the dark, historic wood of the table.

“Over the last eighteen months,” Thomas said, “more than four hundred thousand dollars was moved from the foundation’s primary account.”

The man in the grey suit looked up from his tablet.

“The transfers were masked as administrative costs and structural repairs,” the man said.

“They were not administrative,” Thomas said.