He looked down at his desk, his face pale.

He knew I was right.

“I can flag the transactions for manual secondary review,” he said quietly. “It will delay them, but only for an hour.”

“Do it,” I said.

He tapped a few keys on his board.

“They are flagged,” he said, looking up at me. “But you have until two-thirty to get me that court order, Claire. After that, the system will release them automatically.”

“Thank you, Thomas,” I said, turning toward the door.

As I walked out of the office, my phone vibrated in my coat pocket.

It was a text from Daniel Price.

“They are leaving the hotel. They have suitcases. They are heading toward the garage.”

My heart stopped.

They were not just moving the money.

They were running.

I ran down the stone steps of the bank and into the sharp, freezing wind of Fifth Avenue.

The air smelled of car exhaust and roasting chestnuts from a nearby street cart.

I pressed the phone to my ear and hit redial.

Daniel answered on the second ring.