“They did not realize I was writing down every name.”

“Every date.”

“Every off-shore account number.”

Sophia’s hand stopped rolling the pen.

She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on mine.

“You have the ledger numbers?” she asked.

“I have more than that,” I said.

“I have the offshore routing codes for the Swiss accounts.”

“I have the names of the three judges in Cook County who take his cash.”

“And I know where he keeps the physical backup drive.”

Luca looked up, a frown creasing his forehead.

“The warehouse on 24th Street,” he said.

“He told me that was empty.”

“He lies to everyone, Luca,” I said.

“Even to his own blood.”

“The drive is in the basement, behind the old boiler.”

“It is in a steel box that requires a physical key and an eight-digit passcode.”

“He changes the passcode every month,” Sophia said, her voice skeptical.

“He did,” I said.

“But he used a mathematical sequence based on his mother’s birthdate.”

“He is a creature of habit.”

“He thinks his mind is the only safe place in Chicago.”