The fluorescent lights in the rented office space hummed with a persistent buzz that Nathan had stopped noticing two hours ago. He stood beside the conference table, his hand resting on one of seven cardboard boxes that lined the room’s perimeter like silent witnesses. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Riverpoint’s financial district stretched into the gray afternoon, all steel and glass and ambition. Inside, the air felt different. Heavier. Charged with the weight of months of investigation compressed into manila folders and document sleeves.Marjorie Hayes sat across from him, though “sat” was generous. She’d collapsed into the leather chair sometime around the third box of evidence, her designer silk blouse now wrinkled at the collar, the perfect cream fabric creased where she’d been gripping it. Her makeup, always so carefully applied, had begun to smudge beneath her eyes. Nathan wondered if she’d touched her face without realizing it, or if the foundation simply couldn’t hold

The Hayes corporate headquarters occupied forty-three floors of steel and glass in the heart of Riverpoint’s financial district, a monument to old money pretending to be modern. Cassandra had been inside the building dozens of times, had attended charity galas in the penthouse ballroom and dinner meetings in the executive dining room, but she’d never felt the weight of it quite like this. The elevator climbed with smooth efficiency, the numbers ticking upward while her reflection stared back at her from the polished doors.Navy suit, tailored perfectly. Hair pulled back in a style her mother would have called severe. Makeup minimal, professional. She looked like someone who belonged in a boardroom, which was exactly the point. Looking the part was half the battle in rooms like these.The other half was having the spine to stay standing when everyone else wanted you to sit down and shut up.The elevator chimed as it reached the fortieth floor, and the doors slid open to reveal the exec

The trial date came through on a Tuesday: June fifteenth, still three months away. Nathan saw it first on the news ticker scrolling across the bottom of a television screen in a hardware store, standing in line with a cart full of drywall supplies while the clerk rang up the customer ahead of him. The media had latched onto Marjorie’s case with the fervor of sharks scenting blood, dissecting every detail, every revelation, every connection to Riverpoint’s wealthy elite. Reporters camped outside the Hayes estate. Camera crews haunted the financial district. Everyone wanted a statement, a reaction, a glimpse of the family crumbling.Nathan gave them nothing. He had better things to do.The building Marcus had agreed to let him work on sat on Brennan Street, in a neighborhood where most investors wouldn’t bother slowing down their cars. Three stories of brick gone gray with neglect, windows boarded with plywood that had itself been tagged with graffiti in overlapping layers of spray pain

The café sat on the edge of Riverpoint’s industrial district, in one of those transitional neighborhoods where warehouses were slowly being converted into lofts and old factory buildings housed artisan coffee roasters and craft breweries. It was the kind of place where people minded their own business, where the clientele consisted mostly of freelancers with laptops and shift workers grabbing breakfast before heading home. Far enough from the financial district that Nathan didn’t expect to run into anyone who mattered. Far enough from the Hayes estate that Cassandra could arrive without being noticed.Nathan pushed through the door at ten past nine, the bell above chiming softly. The café smelled like espresso and fresh pastries, warmth against the morning chill outside. He spotted Cassandra immediately, seated at a corner table by the window where she could watch the street. She’d arrived early, which didn’t surprise him. Cassandra Sterling didn’t show up anywhere without knowing the

The detectives arrived at the Hayes estate on a Tuesday morning, just after breakfast service had been cleared. Nathan heard about it from Maria, who’d been polishing silver in the dining room when two plainclothes officers were escorted through by Mr. Hayes’s personal assistant. She’d rushed to his quarters afterward, her eyes wide with the kind of gossip that spread through staff like wildfire, telling him in hushed tones about the badges and the briefcases and the way Mr. Hayes’s face had gone pale when they’d asked to speak with Liam.The investigation moved with the kind of speed that money usually prevented. Anonymous tips flooded the financial crimes division, each one pointing investigators toward specific accounts, specific transactions, specific irregularities in Liam Hayes’s financial history. Nathan had provided his evidence to Diane, who’d forwarded it to the appropriate authorities through proper legal channels. But someone else was feeding the investigation too, someone