"Either you clean my mother's apartment tonight…

Grace's office was on the fourth floor of a building that smelled like old carpet and printer toner.

She met me at the door herself, which she had never done before.

"Come in," she said.

"Close it behind you."

She had the photographs spread across her desk — printed, not on screen.

She'd been working through them before I arrived.

I could see the yellow sticky notes on several pages.

"Sit down," she said.

I sat.

"I've been on the phone all morning," she said.

"I want to walk you through what I found, and I need you to tell me if any of it surprises you."

"All right."

She picked up the first page.

"The $1,500 charge connected to your company account.

The account number matches a vendor payment account your company uses for contractor invoices.

Someone with access to your internal billing system submitted a fraudulent invoice, attached a digital copy of your signature, and processed the payment to an account registered under a shell company." She set the page down.

"Does the name Hartwell Consulting mean anything to you?"

"No."

"It was registered eight months ago.

The registered agent is a man named Paul Renner." She looked at me.

"Do you know that name?"

I thought.

"Daniel has a friend named Paul.

I've met him twice.

Maybe three times."

"Paul Renner is listed as the sole director of Hartwell Consulting.

The account that received your company's $1,500 payment belongs to Hartwell Consulting." She paused.

"That payment was a test.

If it cleared without triggering an audit, they were going to scale it up."

My coffee from this morning was still sitting in my stomach like a stone.

"How much?" I said.

"The handwritten plan you photographed lists four additional invoices.

Total exposure: just under $40,000."

I put my hands flat on the desk.

"They were going to drain $40,000 from my company," I said.

"And then file the divorce papers, presenting the forged ownership transfer as evidence that you had already agreed to sign over the business as part of a settlement.

By the time your lawyers untangled it, the money would be gone and the company would be tied up in proceedings long enough to lose its major contracts." She folded her hands.

"It's not a simple plan.

Someone thought about it carefully."

"The attorney," I said.

"The woman in the apartment."

"Her name is Sandra Voss.

She's licensed.

She's practiced for eleven years." Grace's voice was even.

"She drafted the ownership transfer document.

Her firm's letterhead is on two of the pages you photographed."

"Can she be disbarred?"

"That's one possible outcome, yes." Grace looked at me steadily.

"Olivia, I have to ask you something directly.

Is there anything in your company's finances — anything at all — that wouldn't survive scrutiny?

Any irregularity, however small?"

"No."

"You're certain."

"I built that company from nothing.

I know every account, every invoice, every contract.

There is nothing."

Grace nodded slowly.

"Good.

Because when we move on this, they will look."

"When we move on this," I repeated.

"What does that mean exactly?"

"It means I've already spoken to a colleague who handles financial fraud cases.

He wants to meet with us tomorrow morning." She paused.

"It also means that today, before you go home, we need to talk about the camera."

I looked at her.

"If Daniel was watching you in real time through that camera," she said, "and he saw you photograph those documents, he knows his plan is compromised.

Which means he has already moved to the backup."

"What backup?"

She picked up another page — one I hadn't looked at closely when I was photographing.

She turned it to face me.

It was a printed email chain.

At the top, Daniel's address.

The responses came from an address I didn't recognize.

But the content of the emails was about me.

My daily schedule.

My work login.

My personal passwords — some of which I recognized immediately as correct.

"He's been giving someone access to your accounts," Grace said.