The money struck my cheek before it scattered across the kitchen floor.

Marcus picked up on the first ring.

"I need to know exactly what he said to you," I told him.

"He called at ten-fifteen," Marcus said.

"He didn't identify himself.

He didn't have to.

He said he'd been looking into my background and that my departure from the restaurant hadn't been entirely clean.

He said the internal transfers I'd set up — the ones he'd instructed me to set up — could be characterized differently if someone chose to look at them that way."

"He's threatening to frame you for what he told you to do."

"That's what it sounded like to me."

I sat down on the bench outside the courthouse.

The afternoon was cold and bright.

"Marcus, are you still willing to cooperate?"

A long pause.

Longer than the ones before.

"I have a daughter," he said again.

Not as an explanation.

As a weight he was carrying out loud.

"I know," I said.

"And I want to be honest with you.

What Daniel just did — contacting you like that — Patricia believes it constitutes witness intimidation.

If you're willing to report it, it becomes another piece of evidence against him.

It also gives you protection.

You're not a target anymore.

You're a witness he tried to silence."

"And if I don't report it?"

"Then he knows it worked.

And he'll do it again."

The line was quiet for a moment.

"He told me the company was for Noah," Marcus said.

"He sat across from me and said he wanted to build something for his son's future.

I believed him.

I have no idea why I believed him — I'd worked for the man for three years, I knew what he was — but I believed him that one time." His voice had something raw in it.

"He used your son's name.

He used my trust.

And now he's trying to use my livelihood."

"Yes," I said.

"That's who he is."

Another silence.

Then: "Tell your lawyer to send me whatever I need to sign."

I called Patricia immediately.

She had the witness intimidation report drafted before the end of the day.

Marcus signed it that evening and it was filed the following morning, attached to the referral Judge Vance had already sent to the state attorney's office.

By Thursday, Daniel's attorney Garrett issued a statement saying his client denied making any threatening contact and that the allegation was a coordinated effort to prejudice ongoing proceedings.

By Friday, a second former employee had called Patricia's office.

Her name was Diane.

She had worked the front of house at the restaurant for four years.

She had left eight months ago.

"I saw the news about the hearing," she told Patricia.

"I don't know if this is useful.

But two years ago, Daniel asked me to sign a document.

He said it was a supplier reference.

I signed it.

A few weeks later I looked it up and it was a witness statement for a civil matter I'd never been involved in.

When I asked him about it, he told me I'd misread it and to let it go."

Patricia called me that afternoon.

"He forged a witness statement," I said.

"Or he had someone sign something they didn't understand and used it as one.

Either way, Diane is willing to make a formal statement."

"What civil matter was it for?"

"We're still tracing it.

But Claire —" Patricia paused.

"I want you to be prepared.

When someone starts unraveling, it tends to happen quickly.

The attorney general's office has been in contact.

They're moving faster than I expected.

There may be a development as early as next week."

"What kind of development?"

"The kind that requires him to have a very different kind of lawyer."

That evening I made dinner for Noah and Ruth.

Noah wanted pasta.

He sat at the counter while I cooked and told me about a book he was reading at school — something about a boy who discovers a hidden door in his grandmother's house.

"What's behind the door?" I asked.

"I don't know yet," he said.

"I'm only at the part where he finds it."

"Is it scary?"

He considered this seriously.

"A little.

But I think it's going to be okay."

I stirred the sauce and didn't say anything.

Ruth caught my eye from across the kitchen.

She didn't say anything either.

After Noah was in bed, I checked my email.

There was one from an address I didn't recognize — a personal Gmail account, no name attached.