Seven-year-old Toby Miller pressed his newest crayon sketch against the pale wall of Room 412, filling the very last patch of empty space next to the unconscious man’s bed.

Julian Sterling sat at the head of the massive mahogany table in the Sterling Global boardroom, looking utterly exhausted. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy.

"What do you mean, the funds are gone?" Julian hissed into his cell phone, turning his back to the empty room. "It was a secure offshore account! Fifty million dollars does not just vanish into thin air!"

"Sir, the encryption was bypassed," his panicked financial manager replied. "The money was routed through a dozen shell companies and completely sterilized. Whoever did this had our master administrative codes."

Julian’s blood ran cold. Only two people had those codes. Julian, and Arthur.

"That's impossible," Julian muttered. "He's dead. He has to be dead."

He hung up the phone and poured himself a heavy glass of scotch. The door to the boardroom opened, and Clara walked in, looking flawless in a tailored black mourning dress.

"The judge approved the petition," Clara smiled, wrapping her arms around Julian's waist. "In forty-eight hours, the death certificate will be issued. The company is yours, and the estate is mine. We won."

Julian pulled away, his face pale. "Someone is draining my accounts, Clara. Fifty million disappeared this morning. Last week, the security footage from my penthouse was wiped clean. Someone knows."

Clara scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You're being paranoid. The mechanic is the only loose end, and you paid him to disappear to Mexico."

Far away in the snowy estate, Arthur was listening to the entire conversation through a bug he had instructed a bribed janitor to plant under the boardroom table.