It never does, for people like that.

The truth was never their ally; it had only been waiting, patiently, for them to run out of lies.

Two financial-crimes detectives came in through the side doors.

The confidential investigation had already produced the warrants — the phones, the laptops, the offices, all of it.

Rupert was not arrested that night; the evidence still had to be processed through channels that do not care how dramatic the ballroom is.

But his devices were seized before he left the building, his access to every system was cut, and his passport was flagged by court order before the valet had brought a single car around.

That was more satisfying than handcuffs would have been.

Handcuffs are quick.

This was slow.

He had to walk out through five hundred silent employees — the same five hundred who had watched him rise — knowing they had also just watched him expose himself and fall, all of it, in under twenty minutes.