Seventeen Minutes on Route 18 Wrecked an Eighteen-Million-Dollar Corporate Buyout
I put the box down.
Nina slid the printed logs across the polished mahogany table to Eleanor’s attorney.
The attorney caught them with two fingers and squared the stack against the edge of the table.
“Eleven-oh-four,” she said.
“The file left the server at eleven-oh-four last night.
The keycard that unlocked that floor belonged to Mr.
Mercer.”
Gavin’s palm came down flat on the mahogany.
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