Natalie shut the door again, sat back, and took a shaky breath. “My dad has been stealing from the company for two years,” she said. “And you are the one he plans to blame.” My stomach dropped. She pulled a folded paper from her clutch and held it out. It was a copy of a ledger page, and at the bottom, in a neat imitation of my signature, were my initials beside a column of forged entries.

I stared at it, unable to speak. “He found out that I knew,” Natalie whispered. “Last week, I heard him on the phone with his lawyer, saying he would let the new employee take the fall. Then he asked me to go to prom with you, so I would stay quiet and so you would feel indebted.” Her voice cracked. Across the parking lot, a dark sedan slowly rolled in, and Natalie stiffened. “That is his accountant,” she said. “Brent, we need to leave right now.”