“Lena,” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. “Please.”

I did not answer him.

I looked at the door as the second strike hit the frame, splintering the wood near the lock.

Through the frosted glass of the office partition, I saw the dark silhouettes of three men.

The center figure was taller than the others, his shoulders broad and square.

Even through the blurred glass, I recognized the shape of Roman’s coat.

The lock shattered with a loud crack, and the door swung open, banging hard against the drywall.

Roman stood in the doorway.

His black wool coat was damp from the rain, and his eyes were cold as they swept the room.

Two of his men, heavy-set and silent, stepped past him with their weapons drawn.

Elias immediately dropped to his knees, his hands locked behind his head.

“Don’t shoot,” Elias said. “I’m not armed.”

One of Roman’s men kicked Elias’s utility belt away and pushed him flat onto the floor.

Arthur stood frozen by the desk, his hands trembling.

Roman didn’t look at Elias or my father.

His eyes found mine.