He stopped only inches away from me, his presence overwhelming.

“I don’t like being played, Kate,” he said softly.

“I am not playing you,” I said, looking directly into his grey eyes. “If I were working with the feds, would I still be standing in this room? I would have run the moment the sirens started.”

“Or you stayed to see if your cover was still intact,” he countered.

I took a deep breath, my mind racing as I tried to connect the pieces.

The Upper East Side. The timing.

“It’s Tristan,” I said, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. “He’s the one who gave them the warehouse.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Tristan Carmichael is a hedge fund manager, not a federal agent.”

“But he is desperate,” I insisted. “Khloe Dupont’s family owns the shipping lines you use for your European imports. Tristan has been trying to worm his way into their logistics for months.”

I stepped closer to Arthur, desperate to make him see.