“You have no one,” Dante said, his voice cold.

He walked over to a wooden table in the corner of the cellar.

A leather briefcase sat on top of it, half-covered by a dirty tarp.

Dante pulled the tarp away.

“Is this what you were trying to salvage?” Dante asked.

Marcus didn’t answer. He looked away, his jaw clenched.

Dante flipped the latches on the briefcase.

It popped open, revealing stacks of paper and a black laptop.

I walked over to Dante’s side, my heart still racing from the fight with Evelyn.

My hands were dirty, and my knuckles were scraped.

“What is all that?” I asked.

“The paper trail,” Dante said.

He began flipping through the documents, his thumb scanning the pages.

“Marcus was smart enough to keep records, but not smart enough to hide them well.”

“Those are private,” Marcus spat.

“They belong to my corporation.”

“Your corporation is a shell,” Dante said without looking up.

“And it’s about to collapse.”

He pulled a thick, blue-bound folder from the stack.

He opened it, squinting slightly under the beam of the flashlight his man held over his shoulder.