“And six weeks ago, you forged her signature to apply for a second forty-thousand-dollar equity line.”

The conference room door swung open, catching on the edge of the carpet.

Eleanor came in carrying a leather handbag, her shoulders rigid under a heavy navy coat.

She ignored the chairs and walked straight toward my side of the table.

“Mariana,” Eleanor said, her voice sharp and curt.

“You’ve carried this high-handed insolence far enough.

A dutiful woman doesn’t drag private household accounts into a public building.”

Frank took off his wire-rimmed glasses and began polishing them with a white cloth from his breast pocket.