“You can walk out that door right now, or I dial nine-one-one.”

I looked at the man I had lived with for twenty-three years.

I saw the crisp collar of his shirt and the polished leather of his shoes.

He believed he had won.

He believed Oakmont Holdings was a fortress no one could get into, built of legal filings and corporate stamps.

He didn’t know I had spent the morning in a diner parking lot.

He didn’t know Marcus already had the full list of names attached to the Oakmont accounts.