A single tear tracked down the deep wrinkles of her cheek.

“He told me you hated me,” she whispered.

“He told me you never wanted to see me again.”

“He lied about everything,” I said, squeezing her cold hand.

Her skin felt like damp parchment, but her grip was surprisingly firm.

The phone on the nightstand flared to life again, buzzing against the wood.

This time, it wasn’t a call.

My own phone in my pocket vibrated twice.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

It was an automated alert from the bank.

An attempt had been made to access the joint account my father had set up using Margaret’s social security number.

The location of the IP address was flagged in the alert system.

“Claire,” I said, holding up the screen. “Look at this.”

Claire walked over and squinted at the digital map.

“That’s a satellite internet connection,” she said. “From the ship’s coordinates.”

“They’re trying to wire the remaining funds out of the country,” I said.

“They can’t,” Claire said. “I had the Treasury Department freeze those routing numbers an hour ago.”