It was a valiant, if stupid, attempt.

But I had anticipated it.

Across the room, one of Daniel’s now-former investors—a shrewd venture capitalist named Marcus—tapped his phone screen.

He’d opened one of the embedded audio files I had attached to the mass email.

Marcus held his phone up, amplifying the volume.

The tinny, unmistakable sound of Daniel’s voice echoed through the deathly quiet ballroom.

“Listen to me, Elena,” the recorded voice sneered, thick with scotch and arrogance. “You need to move that three million through your dad’s shell company by Tuesday.