He had dropped it rushing out of a taxi that morning. By the time he noticed, the vehicle was gone. He retraced his steps. Nothing. Without those documents, his lawyers had no defense. His empire would crumble. His reputation would dissolve. Prison was a possibility. The irony tasted bitter. He had climbed from nothing to everything, and now everything balanced on a folder that had vanished into a crowded city.
Executives gathered around the long table. Suits, tablets, murmured conversations, impatient glances. They expected answers. Benjamin had none.
He sat in the leather chair that cost more than most families earned in a year and tried to breathe. Ten minutes left. He searched his mind for excuses, distractions, any lie that might buy time. There was nothing. Truth without evidence meant nothing in this world.
Then the door opened. Every head turned. In the doorway stood a little girl, no older than five. Bare feet blackened with street dust. A faded yellow dress torn at the hem. Hair tangled into wild knots. She clutched a black leather portfolio to her chest as though it were fragile glass.