Before he could take three steps, the heavy oak front doors banged open.

Four uniformed officers and two plainclothes detectives walked straight into the dining hall. The catering captain — aware of the timing — had left the front latch unlocked, exactly as I’d asked.

“Marcus?” the lead detective called, drawing a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

Marcus froze, looking from the officers to the table of executives, who were already gathering their coats and turning their backs on him as though he were a corpse.

“You’re under arrest for domestic assault, coercion, and corporate fraud,” the detective said, taking him by the shoulder and spinning him around. The cuffs clicked into place, a sharp metallic echo through the grand room.

“Clara! Tell them!” Marcus screamed as he was pulled away, his suit twisting, his polished shoes scuffing the floorboards he’d forced me to clean. “Tell them it was an accident!