He walked over to the desk drawer, pulled out a small black flash drive, and slipped it into his pocket.

“We’re going down the service elevator,” he said.

“The garage exits onto a side street.”

“What about the press conference?” I asked, following him as he headed toward the back hallway.

“We do it from Chicago,” Blake said.

“On your terms. On our turf.”

We reached the heavy metal door of the service elevator.

Blake pressed the button, and the low groan of the cables echoed through the shaft.

As we waited, my phone buzzed again in my coat pocket.

It was a text message from an unknown number.

I pulled it out and read the single line of text.

“The story is already live on three sites. You have one hour to call me before I release the photos of the boys.”

I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat.

The elevator doors slid open with a heavy metallic scrape, revealing the dark, empty car.

I looked at Blake, the phone still trembling in my hand.

I held the phone out to Blake.