He adjusted his silver wristwatch twice, his fingers sliding along the metal clasp.

“Rebecca’s name is all over those old logs, Dad,” Garrett said quietly.

“Digging through her old emails won’t bring the stolen money back.”

“The numbers don’t match the tax filings,” I said.

Garrett took a container of soup out of the bag and set it next to my keyboard.

His voice slipped into a smooth, measured tone.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard, Dad, and it’s making you see shadows,” Garrett said.

“Stress and paranoia often come with severe physical burnout.”