Are you coming into the shower with me?” The question left my mouth so casually that for one horrifying second, I didn’t understand what I had just said to the woman standing beside my bed. Then Laura Hayes turned toward me with a clean sheet in her hands, and the look on her face made me realize I had crossed a line I could never buy my way back across.

Twenty minutes later, Robert sat at the massive walnut dining table where senators and investors had once dined. Laura placed a steaming mug of black coffee before him.

"You remembered," Robert murmured, surprised.

"I clean the cup beside your desk every week," she replied evenly, taking a seat opposite him.

As they talked, the walls Robert had spent decades building began to crack. He learned that Laura had been working as a housekeeper for two years following the death of her husband. When Robert asked what she did before, Laura hesitated. She slowly unpinned her employee badge and laid it gently on the polished wood.

"I was a forensic accountant," she said. "For fifteen years."

Robert froze, his grip tightening around the mug. "Why did you quit?"

Her face went utterly still. "I didn’t."

A chill raced down Robert’s spine. Reaching into her canvas bag, Laura slid a thick, yellowed dossier across the table and placed it beside his coffee.

"My husband discovered financial transfers almost identical to the ones moving through your company," Laura said, her eyes locking onto his.