“Send me anything you’ve still got. Tonight.”
“There’s something else,” Priya said. “Colin called an hour ago. He wants Monday’s trustee meeting moved up. To this afternoon.”
The meeting where I was finally going to lay eighteen months of discrepancies on a table, in front of the whole board, so nobody could call it paranoia again.
Moved up four days. The same morning my daughter lay wired to a monitor and my accountant’s backups had vanished from a parking lot.
“For everyone’s convenience,” Priya said, reading my silence. “That’s the phrase he used.”
I stared through the glass at Lucy — small, tubed, seven years old — and felt something in me go quiet and very, very focused. The way it used to right before an operation stopped being a theory.
Someone had wanted me too shattered to walk into that room today.
Someone had nearly gotten exactly what they wanted.
