“I hear you are finally free, Clara.”

The sender was Julian Maroni.

I stared at the green text from Julian Maroni.

I did not reply.

I put the phone in the glove compartment and drove toward the coast.

The rain got lighter as the road sloped downward toward the ocean.

By sunrise, I reached the town of Port Mansfield.

It was a quiet place where the salt air rotted the wooden piers.

The houses were small, shingled boxes with peeling paint.

I had rented a small cottage under the name Sarah Vance.

The key was under a chipped red brick by the back porch.

Inside, the air smelled of damp pine, old paper, and salt.

I set my single suitcase on the linoleum floor.

I sat at the kitchen table and opened my laptop.

The kitchen window looked out over a gray patch of grass and the cold, dark sea.

I connected to the secure server I had built for the Costello estate.

Arthur believed his security was absolute.

He did not know I kept a mirrored terminal on an encrypted partition.