Sophie tapped the screen again and stopped the playback.

The boardroom was completely silent.

In the double doorway behind us stood Martha, the head teller from downstairs, holding a metal tray of coffee cups, her hands gripping its chrome rim.

She didn’t take a single step forward.

“You gave the sheriff a sworn report six years ago,” Mr.

Harrison said, his voice cold and even as he looked at Dean.

“You said under oath that Daniel had the only set of keys to the lake tackle shed on the day he disappeared.”