In the frame I’d saved, Fiona was smiling as she photographed the fake estate ledgers.

“Three resets isn’t an accident,” Olivia said.

“Three resets is somebody trying.”

She had the video paused on her second monitor and a bank printout in her other hand.

In the frame, Fiona’s hand rested flat on my desk lamp, with my blue notebook lying open beneath it.

“The attempts came from a network inside her building,” I said.

“Second floor, west end.”

Olivia laid a manila folder open on the desk.