Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
The sound was so sharp and abrupt it seemed to echo right beside her ear. Effie’s heart gave a violent jolt, and she instinctively pushed Lyman away.
She hurried to straighten her clothes, shooting him a look filled with reproach and frustration.
Lyman, unfazed, simply stepped forward and helped her smooth out her blouse, his touch brisk and practical.
Only then did he call out, “What is it?”
Luther, picking up the irritation in Lyman’s voice, felt his stomach drop. He tensed immediately.
Still…
He glanced at the two officers standing nearby, then steeled himself and said, “Mr. Etheridge, the police are here to gather evidence.”
“Let them in,” Lyman replied coolly.
Effie sucked in a sharp breath. Lyman was truly fearless—he didn’t even bother to show deference to the police.
The officers entered, and, upon seeing Lyman, greeted him with a respectful, “Mr. Etheridge.”
Lyman merely nodded in acknowledgment. It was all the greeting he cared to give.
He had every reason to be so self-assured.
Turning back to Effie, Lyman said, “We haven’t finished our earlier discussion. Why don’t you come up to my office and we’ll continue?”
Effie’s cheeks flamed as if every drop of blood in her body had rushed to her face.
Continue what? Discussing how to use company resources for personal gain?
Thankfully, it was just Lyman’s idea of a joke. He soon left the room with Luther in tow.
Once the police had gathered what evidence they needed, Irving Butler’s office was a mess—papers strewn everywhere, drawers left open, the place looking utterly depressing.
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