“I don’t know,” I said.

“My father always said he kept his partners at a distance.”

“Maybe one of them got tired of waiting,” Wyatt muttered.

He turned the truck onto the highway, heading toward the north side of Columbus.

The city lights blurred past us in long, yellow streaks.

I looked down at my lap, my fingers tracing the hem of my coat.

My family was in custody, but the knot in my stomach only grew tighter.

“If the ledger is still at Arthur’s old office, we have to get there before anyone else,” I said.

“The police are busy at the house.”

“Harper won’t be able to leave the scene for at least an hour.”

“We do this ourselves,” Wyatt said, his jaw tight.

He pressed harder on the accelerator.

The nursing home was twenty minutes away, located in a quiet, wooded suburb.

But Arthur had mentioned the old office.

The old office wasn’t at the nursing home.

It was the vacant brick building on Third Avenue, the original headquarters of Bennett Holdings.

“Wait,” I said, grabbing Wyatt’s arm.