The waitress offered to sketch my portrait for a plate of food, but when I looked down, she had drawn my deepest, darkest crime in microscopic words.

Caleb didn't leave quietly.

He snatched the blue folder from the table, his eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. He looked at Ellie, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw muscles bulged.

"You think you’re a hero, don't you?" Caleb spat at her. "You think you’re saving the world with your little pencils and your sob story about your dead father?"

"Caleb!" Grant barked, stepping into his space.

"No, Grant! Let me tell her!" Caleb shouted, backing toward the glass doors. "Your father was a loser, Ellie! He lost his pension because he didn't know how the real world works! And Grant didn't destroy him—the market destroyed him! Just like it’s going to destroy you!"

Caleb slammed his fist against the glass frame of the door, shattering a small decorative side pane before turning and sprinting down the stairwell with his lawyers trailing behind him.

The heavy sound of glass fragments hitting the hardwood floor echoed through the quiet loft.

Ellie stood near the table, her body trembling slightly. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. But her hands were clutched tightly around her red pen.

Grant walked over to her, his heart aching with a fierce, protective instinct he hadn't felt in decades. He reached out, his hand hovering inches from her shoulder, hesitating before gently placing it on her back.

"He’s wrong, Ellie," Grant said softly. "Arthur wasn't a loser. He was an honest man who got stepped on by monsters like me."

Ellie looked up at him, her gray-green eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and fierce determination. "We haven't won yet, Grant. Caleb is cornered. A cornered rat doesn't run away—it bites."

"Let him bite," Grant said, his voice hard as flint. "I’ve been fighting sharks on Wall Street for thirty years. He’s just a lamprey."

Grant turned to his lead forensic accountant. "Call the SEC regional director. Tell him Grant Voss has a primary proffer agreement ready for delivery at midnight."

"Right away, Mr. Voss," the accountant said, picking up his phone.

Grant turned back to Ellie. "Come on."