This time, he pulled out a compact black pistol.

But he didn’t shoot.

He stayed low, his eyes scanning the room.

I scrambled behind the kitchen island, my knees scraping against the floorboards.

My hands were wet with spilled water and rainwater.

“Gregory!” Arthur yelled into the phone, which was still lying on the floor.

But the connection had gone dead.

Only the sound of static came from the speaker.

The green light on my phone had stopped pulsing.

The transfer was complete.

Every file had been delivered to the federal database.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees surrounding the cabin.

“Get up, Arthur,” Julian said, his gun pointed at Arthur’s chest.

“The feds are probably tracking your phone’s GPS right now.”

“They’re going to be here in less than twenty minutes.”

Arthur looked up at him, his face twisted in rage.

“You won’t get away with this, Julian,” Arthur said.

“If I go down, I’m taking you with me.”

“With what evidence?” Julian asked, his voice calm.

“Clara didn’t have my ledgers.”

“She only had yours.”