I reached into my pocket, my fingers wrapping around my phone.

The shadow grew longer, blocking the light from the hallway window.

The man in the trench coat stepped into view, his wet umbrella dripping water onto the floor.

He wasn’t my father.

He was younger, with sharp features, a trimmed beard, and a cold, professional expression.

He stopped directly outside the room and looked straight at me.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a leather badge wallet, flipping it open.

“Rachel Carter?” he asked.

I didn’t answer, keeping my body between him and Margaret.

“I’m Special Agent Vance, Internal Revenue Service, Criminal Investigation,” he said.

I kept my grip tight on my grandmother’s arm.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Your colleague, Claire Donnelly, called our field office,” he said. “We’ve been tracking your father’s offshore accounts.”

He looked at Margaret, his expression softening slightly as he saw her frail state.

“Mrs. Mitchell,” he said. “We have a transport vehicle downstairs to take you to a federal medical facility.”

I looked past his shoulder, searching the empty hallway.

“Where is Claire?” I asked.