They did not know the details yet.

They did not know about the invoices or the deleted emails or the account opened in the company’s name.

All they knew, in that first wave, was that the quiet wife had turned out to be the rescuer, and that the man who had just struck her and told her to go home was the one being quietly surrounded by security, and the moral arithmetic of that was simple enough to do standing up, in a ballroom, with a drink in your hand.

Chapter 8 — I Faced the Room