I felt the familiar burn of shame creeping up my neck—the same feeling I’d had during every news interview, every courtroom appearance, every moment when people looked at me like I was some kind of operator instead of the victim of one. Then I looked down at those papers again, at the patterns that didn’t lie, even when everything else did.
“You’re right,” I said, my voice steady as winter. “You didn’t ask. But if you had, I’d tell you to get a full audit of your financial structure before it’s too late. What I can see from here suggests you’re heading for serious trouble.”
Harrison’s laugh was sharp and mirthless. “Is that so? And what exactly qualifies you to make such bold predictions about my business?”
“Experience,” I said simply. “I’ve seen enough balance sheets to recognize the warning signs—even from scattered documents on a diner table.”
Color began to drain from his face.
“That’s quite enough,” he said, standing abruptly and gathering his papers. “I don’t know where you think you learned to read financial statements, but—”
“Katherine Wells,” I said quietly.
He froze.
“Wells & Associates Financial Consulting. I managed portfolios for thirty years before my son destroyed my company. I’ve seen more financial disasters than you’ve had board meetings, and yours has all the classic warning signs.”
