My stomach tightened.
“What did you find?”
“Transfers connected to Sophia’s company.”
I sat down.
“How much?”
Another pause.
“Almost two million dollars.”
The room spun.
Two million.
Not hidden spending.
Not gifts.
Not an affair.
Fraud.
The Whitestone Medical Foundation Gala began at seven.
By six-thirty, Dallas society filled the ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers reflected across polished marble floors.
