Page 148 of Claim & Don't Tell

“Then, that’s all that matters.”

I side-eye him. “You’re not mad?”

“Of course not. So long as you graduate, that’s all that matters.”

“Oh thank god,” I mumble, releasing a harsh exhale.

Wyatt laughs. “That was painful for you, wasn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” I confess. “I’m just glad you’re not upset. I know you helped me get the other internship.”

“Hey, things happen.” He checks his watch. “Crap. I have a meeting at the university in twenty minutes.” Popping up from his seat, he kisses the top of my head and races to grab his things.

My chest is a little lighter as I finish breakfast. When I get up to clean my dishes, Brady and I share a look. His face gives nothing away, but his eyes burn, and my chest aches all over again.

Telling Wyatt about the internship was the easy part.

The hard part comes on Friday.

I getto work and barely finish setting my things down before Mr. Wallace appears at my cube. “Good morning,” I tell him.

“We need to talk.” His eyes widen with excitement.There’s a new development with Mosley,they seem to say.

Locking my purse in my file cabinet, I secure my belongings before following him to his office. Someone is at his desk, andCalla is hovering behind them, studying the screen with a deep line between her eyebrows.

“What’s going on?”

Mr. Wallace closes the door and gives me a wicked grin. “We’ve got him, Quinn.”

“How?” I ask, following him to his desk.

“Remember the new client’s books I couldn’t balance?” Calla asks.

I nod. “Yeah, you were panicking yesterday.”

“Turns out, Mosley’s been doing some shady shit.” Mr. Wallace rubs his hands together. “While reviewing the books for a few other clients, we’ve found the same dummy account with a plug number, but there are no records or receipts for the expenses listed.”

“So, he’s been fudging the numbers to get his clients tax breaks?”

“Better.” Mr. Wallace hands me a stack of bank statements. “He’s been taking the money.”

“No,” I gasp, flipping through each statement. There’s a highlighted transfer, but I’m not connecting the dots. “How are you sure Mosley is stealing?”

“Because”—the guy at the computer finishes typing—“I’ve hacked into his account.”

“That sounds illegal,” I mutter before rushing around to peep at what he’s found.

Mosley’s bank account is flush. And, if what Mr. Wallace says is true, he’s been stealing most of it. “But it’s stupid to put it in his own account. Wouldn’t he do an offshore account or something?”

“One would think, but it appears old Mosley boy didn’t think he needed it. So far, he’s only taken money from the clients who used him for bookkeeping and tax work. He had full control oftheir books. I can’t wait to shove this in his stupid, arrogant face.”

“But you can’t,” I cut in. Someone has to be the voice of reason. “You hacked into his account. That’s illegal.”

“Well, yeah, but once the cops see?—”

“You can’t show them this, you’ll get arrested!” I take a breath and lower my voice. “Sorry. But you know I’m right. This”—I gesture to the computer and documents—“is good, but none of it matters if it was obtained illegally. I watchSuits. . . I know what I’m talking about.”

Calla hums. “Why don’t we tell the clients what we suspect? Show them the books and explain what’s going on...then we can get them all to agree to bring a case, and if there’s an investigation, they’ll find the same thing we did.”

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