I reached into my other cardigan pocket and pulled out a small black flash drive.

“This is the master key to the files I just sent,” I said.

“Without it, the prosecutors have thirty thousand pages of encrypted gibberish.”

“They can read the summaries I sent, but they can’t use the raw data in court.”

“They need me to unlock it.”

“And they know I will only do that from a safe, undisclosed location.”

Julian stared at the drive.

A flicker of respect passed through his eyes.

“You really thought of everything,” he said.

“I had to,” I said.

“I worked for Arthur for four years.”

“I learned what happens to people who don’t think ahead.”

Arthur groaned, trying to push himself up from the floor.

His expensive leather shoes slipped on the wet wood.

His face was pale, his breathing heavy and wet.

“Clara,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“Please.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I can give you whatever you want.”

“The money in the Caymans.”

“It’s yours.”

“All of it.”

I looked down at him.

The man who had once ruled the city’s docks, its construction sites, and its politicians.