“This farce is over,” Camilla announced.
“I am not going to let a maid, a loud toddler, and a bitter old woman burn down my life.”
Adrienne moved on instinct to put herself between the woman and her child.
Marguerite did not give an inch.
Corbin set the papers down on the desk and looked at his fiancée with the flat, terrible calm of a man doing arithmetic.
“Camilla,” he said.
“Explain these bank records to me.”
She glanced at them for less than a second.
“They’re forgeries.
Someone made them to frame me.”
“We have the original server logs,” Rafael said evenly.
“And recordings from the meetings you took downtown.”
Camilla rounded on him, and every ounce of the sweetness was gone.
“You are a glorified secretary who forgot his place.”