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A bus passed outside, rattling the windows and I set my water on the table before I dropped it.

“And the transfers?”

His eyes met mine.

“How do you know there are transfers?”

“You said my name appeared. I’m guessing there’s more than bad investments.”

Martin considered that before answering.

“There are transfers between accounts that my client believes require explanation. Money moving through places where, based on the records available to us, it doesn’t appear to belong.”

“Client money?”

“Possibly.”

“Are you telling me Alan stole from his clients?”

“No.” His answer came quickly. “I’m not telling you that. I don’t have enough evidence to make that accusation, and there may be explanations for what we’re seeing.”

“But?”

“But the firm appears to be under enough pressure that someone has begun moving money in ways that concern my client.”

I thought about Paul’s parents at dinner, confident and polished, talking to my father about the market as if money had been invented primarily for men like them to discuss over bourbon.

I thought about Paul working for his father, wondering what he knew.

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

He looked down at the folder again.

“That’s the part I’m trying to establish.”

He turned one sheet slightly, not enough for me to read everything, but enough that I saw columns of typed figures and several handwritten notes along the margin.

“Your family’s name appears in correspondence connected to the firm’s short-term financing discussions.”

“My father invests through them.”

“Yes.”

“That’s hardly suspicious.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Then what?”

He was silent for a moment.

“What?”

Martin tapped one finger against the page. “There are references that suggest someone at the firm expects the relationship between your families to materially improve their position.”

I stared at him.

“Tell me what they say.”