“Emma, please,” Blake said, his hand resting lightly on the car door.

I got into the front passenger seat, and Blake closed the door behind me.

He started the engine, and the quiet purr of the electric motor felt like a relief.

He drove down the dark alley without turning on the headlights until we reached the main street.

The streetlights on the avenue were still working, casting long yellow pools on the wet asphalt.

“Where are we going?” I asked, looking at the side mirror to see if we were followed.

“My office in the city,” Blake said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Your mother owns that building,” I said.

“She owns the real estate,” Blake said, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “She does not own my personal safe.”

“She tried to delete my environmental files,” I said, my chest feeling tight. “The data on the Great Lakes runoff.”

“I know,” Blake said. “That is why we are going to fix this tonight.”

We drove in silence for thirty minutes, entering the glowing heart of downtown Chicago.