“It is not Gregory, Commissioner,” I said.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, broken only by the crackle of static.

“Clara,” he said, his tone instantly shifting from irritation to a cautious relief. “Where are you?”

“Safe,” I said. “And uninvolved.”

“Your former employer is losing his mind,” Vance said. “He sent Gregory to my house at three in the morning with a duffel bag.”

“I know,” I said. “Gregory just left my porch.”

“I didn’t take the bag, Clara,” Vance said. “I can’t touch cash like that anymore. The feds are watching my wife’s accounts.”

“I told Arthur that six months ago,” I said. “He chose not to listen.”

“He doesn’t understand how we did it,” Vance said. “He thinks money is just money. He doesn’t get the routing.”

“Which is why Pier 42 is currently being cleared out by Maroni’s men,” I said.

Vance sighed, a heavy, rattling sound through the speaker.

“My officers are standing down,” Vance admitted. “I gave the order ten minutes ago.”

“Arthur’s shipping crates are still on that dock,” I said. “The customs clearance forms have his signature on them.”