“I’m not worried about capital,” I said, turning my silver ring on my finger.

“I’m asking for clarity on household spending.”

“We’ve got work to finish before six,” Cole said, brushing past me into the house.

Brooke trailed him inside, her thin leather heels clicking loudly on the dark oak floorboards.

I stepped over the threshold and walked down the silent hallway toward Cole’s private study.

The study door stood three inches open.

On the corner of his mahogany desk was a printed bank notice from the morning’s mail, held flat under a brass paperweight.

The page clearly showed the confirmation details for the four-hundred-ten-thousand-dollar outgoing wire to North Ridge Holdings on October 14.