Thomas Romano's office felt like a mausoleum. Expensive everything, but cold as a grave. I sat across from him at his massive mahogany desk, the evidence folder burning a hole in my briefcase, knowing this conversation would determine whether Emma Romano had a future.
Or whether I had one.
"James." Thomas poured himself scotch from a crystal decanter, not offering me any. "Five years we've worked together. Five profitable, productive years."
I kept my voice steady. "Thomas, I think there's been a misunderstanding—"
"Have there been?" He slid a tablet across the desk. Security footage of me meeting Bella and Mikel at Pike Place Market. "Because it looks like you've been having very interesting conversations with my family."
My mouth went dry. The footage was crystal clear—me showing do
