“And a wife has legal rights to everything he owns.”

Sophia looked at the torn papers on the floor, then up at me.

“He will lock you in the estate,” she said.

“He will try,” I said.

“But he doesn’t know that I already have the encryption key for the blue drive memorized.”

“I watched him type it every Tuesday night for six years.”

The laptop screen on the desk flashed again, a bright, harsh blue.

The red light began to spin in a small circle in the upper corner of the monitor.

A low chime sounded from the speakers.

The security feed from the front hall showed the heavy oak doors swinging open.

Two men in dark coats entered first, their boots leaving wet, gray tracks on the marble.

Behind them came Marcus.

He was wearing his gray cashmere coat, his gloved hands tucked into his pockets.

He did not look angry.

He looked tired, his shoulders slightly hunched against the Chicago wind.

He stopped in the center of the hall, looking up toward the staircase that led to Sophia’s office.

“He’s here,” Luca whispered.