The email came at 9:14 in the morning. I had barely touched the tea Elise had left by my office window when I saw it appear, plain and unassuming, tucked between routine shipping updates and boutique appointment requests. The subject line was spare, impersonal. “Concerning a breach of trust.” I almost ignored it.

But something in the phrasing made me pause. Not urgent, not dramatic, not embellished. Just quiet certainty.

I opened it.

There was no greeting. No name. Only a few lines, ...