“No, five years ago she had a technical consultant,” I said, trying to recall the face. “A man named Vance. He was always in her office, always carrying a black leather portfolio.”

Sarah stopped typing.

She looked at the screen, then at me.

“Vance,” she said. “Give me a first name.”

“Marcus,” I said. “Marcus Vance.”

Sarah entered the name into her query window, pairing it with the date and the port ID.

The screen went silent for three seconds.

Then, a small window popped up with a single line of text.

*User ID: MVance_Admin. Terminal: 42-B. Status: Override Authorized.*

“We have him,” Sarah whispered.

“Does it show the content of the packets?” I asked.

“The actual text?” Sarah clicked a file extension. “If they didn’t clear the cache on the terminal itself, yes.”

She dragged a large file into a text converter program.

A series of dialogue bubbles appeared on the screen, stripped of their formatting but perfectly legible.

My eyes burned as I read the words.

*The specs are in the locker. The password is the same. Transfer the second half of the funds to the offshore account tonight.*