Sam lowered his voice. “Look at who made the change,” he whispered, and zoomed in. The login belonged to Patricia Holloway, stamped the same afternoon she handed me the leather folder. Beside it, a note read: “Reduce to nominal until retention agreement is signed. Reallocate difference.” My mouth went dry. This was not a mistake or a message. It was leverage.

Then Sam scrolled down, and my stomach dropped. My $258,700 had not vanished. It had been moved into an account labeled “Executive Discretionary Pool,” and Tyler’s special award had been paid from the same place. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Sam darkened the screen just as Gordon appeared in the doorway, smiling thinly. “Caleb,” he said, “what exactly are you doing in finance?”