His gray hair was plastered to his forehead, and his long wool coat was dark with rain.

“You’re late,” I said, my voice barely a breath.

“Tony’s sweep teams are on the third floor,” he said, closing the door softly behind him. “We don’t have much time. Did you get the ledger?”

I pointed a finger toward the glowing terminal screen.

“I got it,” I said. “But you need to look at this.”

Vincenzo walked over, his boots leaving wet, muddy tracks on the linoleum floor.

He leaned over the desk, his heavy breathing ragged and uneven.

His eyes scanned the columns of numbers and the red transfer confirmation boxes.

“He’s cleared everything,” Vincenzo muttered, his voice hollow.

“Every shell company, every offshore vault, the entire estate holdings,” I said. “Tony liquidated your entire legacy in less than an hour.”

Vincenzo’s jaw tightened so hard I heard his teeth grind.

“That’s forty years of work,” he whispered. “Gone.”

“It gets worse,” I said.

I tapped the keyboard, pulling up the shipping manifest for *The Northern Star*.

“Look at the freight listing for Pier 42.”