Inside, the apartment looked just as it always had.
White furniture.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Art I paid for.
A wine refrigerator I paid for.
The leather bag on the counter had been my Christmas gift.
For once, instead of seeing luxury, I saw transactions.
Every object had a number attached to it.
Every number led somewhere.
Every payment left a trail.
Tessa folded her arms.
“You didn’t call.”
“I had a board meeting.”
“What happened?”
“I’m on leave.”
Her face went pale.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can they fire you?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
I surveyed.
“How much of this did you know?”
“Know about what?”
“How I paid for it.”
Her expression tightened.
“Not this again.”
“You knew some of it went through company entities.”
“You told me it was your company.”
“It is.”
“Then I believed you knew what you were doing.”
