“It ceased to be a private matter when your son forged Eleanor’s name on a multi-million dollar loan,” Thomas said.

He set his briefcase on the mahogany side table with a dull thud.

Mark emerged from the library at the end of the hall.

His tie was loosened, his white shirt wrinkled, and his face was pale and slick with sweat.

Juliette followed close behind him, her red silk dress looking garish under the bright hallway lights.

“What is this?” Mark demanded, his voice cracking as he saw the police officers. “Claire, what did you do?”

“She did nothing, Mr. Taylor,” Investigator Miller said, holding up the digital tablet. “We were just discussing the Grand Cayman transfers.”

Mark looked at the tablet, then at his mother.

“Mother,” Mark said, his eyes wide. “Did you take care of the files?”

Patricia did not answer him.

She looked at the police officers, then at Thomas Bell, and finally at her son.

Her expression changed from fear to a cold, calculating resolve.

“I have nothing to do with this, Mark,” Patricia said.

Mark stared at her, his mouth slightly open. “What?”