Right under the company name were three columns of financial figures and a bold red seal stamped across the word Confidential.

I moved closer to the armchair, my eyes landing on the signature line at the bottom of the first page.

“Is that Donald’s company?” I asked, pointing at the blue heading.

Evan quickly slid the cream folder into the inside pocket of his briefcase and closed the lid.

He turned his silver watch once around his wrist and snapped the clasp firmly shut.

“It’s just routine paperwork, Mom,” Evan said, his voice low and clipped.