What she came back with was not one thief but a nest of them, each working a different seam, each assuming the fog around me would last long enough to finish.

Sennett had been siphoning through vendor contracts.

Perpetua — and this was the piece that reframed everything — had been the real operator, using Sennett as her hands, moving far larger sums through shell structures than he ever knew existed.

Silvia’s audit threatened all of it.

And I, the woman everyone in the building had written off as cracking under the pressure, was sitting on the one complete picture of the whole thing, drawn in a forensic accountant’s careful hand.

Corinne laid it out for me across my kitchen table over the course of an afternoon, and it was, in its own cold way, a masterpiece — not hers, but the scheme’s.