“My assistant handles that.”
“Who gave your assistant the receipts?”
“Who approved reimbursement?”
Seven people sat around the conference table.
Martin Hale was there.
So was Deborah Price, one of our largest private investors.
My chief financial officer, Nathan Crowley, avoided looking at me.
At the far end sat a woman I didn’t recognize.
“Who’s she?”
“Forensic accountant.”
There was a symmetry to it.
My wife, the former forensic analyst, had found the thread.
“Did Corinne send them everything?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the documents she provided raised enough concern that the board ordered its own review.”
“She’s trying to destroy me.”
“No, Grant.
She protected herself.
You need to understand the difference.”
Before I could answer, the conference room door opened.
“We’re ready.”
For two hours, people I had hired asked me questions like I was a stranger.
