The night was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle even before the first drop of rain hit the windshield. But Mike Richard didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel the sting of the wind that whipped past his car windows or the way his shirt clung to his chest with the sweat of barely suppressed rage.

He gripped the steering wheel with knuckles gone white, his jaw locked tight. He had left the mansion without a word to his staff, without his driver. He needed clarity, and he needed it fast.

The SEC’s message had confirmed what he feared most—someone had tampered with company funds. Seven...