When Nita walked into my office that evening, I knew immediately something was off. Normally, if she had something to say, it came through a perfectly worded email or a brief visit from her assistant. But today, she was standing right in front of my desk, eyes sharp, shoulders squared, fire practically radiating off her.
"Richard, we need to talk about Sam," she said pointedly, crossing her arms.
"Sam?" I repeated, arching a brow as I leaned back in my chair. "What about him?"
Nita stepped closer. "I've been going through the accounts," she began, "and there are some things not adding up. I think he's embezzling money."
I froze, staring at her. Sam? Of all people. My oldest friend. My cousin. My brother. I laughed, partly out of disbelief, partly because I didn't know how else to respond. "Nita, come on," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "Sam's been with us since the moment we graduated school. He's family. He won't do such a thing."
