I flipped through, doing the math. It was staggering. “How much?”

“Ninety thousand dollars,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “And climbing. But that’s not why I contacted you.”

“Then why?”

“Because he knows the company is going under. The lenders are demanding audits. And he’s planning to throw me to the wolves.” Her voice cracked. “I found emails between him and that lawyer friend of his, Marcus. They’re manufacturing evidence to make it look like I embezzled the funds and forged your name. If the police get involved, I go to prison and he plays the victim of a rogue employee.”

She leaned closer. “But it gets worse, Mrs. Hayes. Word got around that the winning ticket was sold at your corner store. The clerk remembered you always play those numbers. Colton got wind of it yesterday. He isn’t waiting anymore. He’s filed emergency paperwork to have you declared financially and medically incompetent. He wants to strike before you can even claim the prize.”

I closed the folder, the thud landing like a gavel. My own son had built a guillotine and was positioning my neck on the block.