I scrambled into the leather seat, water dripping from my hair onto my collar.

Roman climbed in right behind me and slammed the door shut.

The engine roared as the driver hit the gas, pulling the heavy vehicle out into the wet Chicago street.

“The private vault on LaSalle,” Roman said to the driver.

“Is that where they went?” I asked, wiping the water from my forehead.

“It is the only branch that handles physical ledger transfers after hours,” Roman said.

He took a dry towel from the console and handed it to me.

“Your father knew the police would come to the safehouse,” he said. “The call to them was a distraction to keep us there.”

“And Elias?” I asked. “He was supposed to be guarding the perimeter at the estate.”

“Elias has been working for your father longer than he has worked for me,” Roman said.

His voice was flat, devoid of anger, which made it far more terrifying.

I looked out the window at the blurred yellow lights of the city passing by.