My throat went entirely dry.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the hum of the penthouse air conditioning.

Arthur did not blink.

He kept his gaze fixed on my face, his expression entirely unreadable.

“She’s an informant, Arthur,” Dominic’s voice crackled through the speaker, relentless and cold. “The timeline matches up. She was near the docks the morning before we moved the crates.”

“I was blocks away trying to find a new apartment,” I said, my voice shaking before I forced it to steady. “I have no contact with the FBI.”

“Save it,” Dominic snapped from the phone. “We tracked the IP address of the tip-off. It came from a public library terminal on the Upper East Side. Two blocks from your temporary residence.”

“Dominic,” Arthur said, his voice quiet but carrying a weight that immediately silenced his lieutenant. “Leave us.”

“Boss—”

“I said hang up, Dominic.”

The line clicked and went dead.

Arthur stood up from his leather chair and walked slowly around the desk.

The rain began to patter against the massive glass windows behind him, blurring the glittering lights of Manhattan.