I kept my hands flat on my leather briefcase.

My fingers were cold, and my palms were slightly damp.

I could feel the small transmitter taped to the underside of my collar.

It felt heavy, like a hot coin pressing against my skin.

Outside the window, a gray Chicago drizzle began to streak the thick glass.

The sky was the color of wet asphalt, swallowing the tops of the downtown skyscrapers.

“Let’s sign the papers,” Voss said, reaching for his gold-plated fountain pen.

“You are in a hurry,” Ryker observed.

“I am a busy man, Ryker,” Voss replied, unscrewing the cap. “I have a board meeting in an hour to prepare for.”

“Too busy to appreciate how easily you beat us?” Ryker asked.

There was a hint of quiet defeat in Ryker’s tone.

It was a beautiful performance.

It sounded genuine enough to make my chest ache, even though I had spent the last four hours helping him prepare for this exact moment.

Voss paused, his pen hovering just above the signature line of the transfer documents.

He looked up, a slow, condescending smile stretching his thin lips.