It was the quiet man from the dinner, the small-time distributor, the man Victoria had interrogated about his income and laughed at.

His water glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

Victoria rushed into his office at the sound, saw the screen, and went white.

“But he told me he was in distribution,” she said, faintly.

And Charles, looking at the ruin of everything, gave her the answer that was also the whole indictment.

“Whitmore Holdings started thirty years ago as a regional distribution company,” he said.