“Not this time,” I said. “The federal government doesn’t care about your local connections.”

My phone vibrated in my coat pocket, the sharp buzz cutting through the tension in the room.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

It was a text message from Naomi.

*The press release is out. Look at the New York Times home page.*

I tapped the browser on my phone and loaded the page.

There was a photograph of Conrad, taken at a charity gala last year, alongside a headline detailing allegations of money laundering and racketeering.

The article mentioned a “highly placed whistleblower” within the family’s inner circle.

I looked up and saw Conrad watching me, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read my expression.

“Is that your lawyer?” Conrad asked, his voice dripping with venom. “That Pierce woman?”

“We have nothing more to say to you,” I said, turning toward the hallway. “Grant, I am taking Lily to a hotel.”

“No, you’re not,” Grant said, stepping in front of the door. “You can’t just run away when things get difficult.”