Roman looked at me, his dark eyes searching my face.

“You stay in the car,” he said.

“No,” I said. “He is my father. He won’t sign the final transfer unless he thinks he has won. I need to be there.”

Roman stared at me for a long second.

He reached out and touched my cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray drop of rain.

“He will use you if he gets the chance, Lena,” Roman said.

“He already did,” I said. “But he doesn’t know I have the codes.”

The SUV slowed down, pulling up onto the curb in front of a grand, gray stone building.

The sign above the brass doors read *The Merchants’ Trust of Chicago*.

The building was dark, except for the lights on the second floor and the main lobby.

Two other black vehicles pulled up behind us, their doors opening in unison.

Six of Roman’s armed security guards stepped out, their heavy coats hiding their weapons.

“Marcus, stay with the driver,” Roman ordered. “The rest of you, with me.”

I stepped out of the SUV into the pouring rain.