“If I enter the destruction sequence,” I continued, “the entire ledger is wiped, and your offshore accounts in Panama will be frozen by the Swiss banks.”

“You’re bluffing,” Vance said.

“Try me,” I said. “The account number is nine-eight-four-seven, suffix Charlie-four.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath on the line.

“How do you know that?” Vance whispered.

“My father was a crook,” I said, “but he was a thorough accountant.”

I looked at Roman, who was watching me with a look of quiet intensity.

“Here is what is going to happen,” I said into the phone.

“I am listening,” Vance said.

“You are going to order that car to leave the clinic,” I said.

“And why would I do that?” he asked.

“Because if you do,” I said, “I will transfer fifty million dollars to your secure account in Zurich.”

“And the rest?” he asked.

“The rest stays with the Blackwell estate,” I said. “And you will sign a release of all debts tied to the Whitmore name.”

“That is a fraction of what your father owed us,” Vance said.