He looked at Adrian, then at me, his brow furrowing beneath his winter cap.

“Copy that,” the officer said into his radio.

He lowered his flashlight, aiming the beam at the ground.

“Move along,” he said, his tone suddenly flat. “But keep off the private property.”

He turned and walked back to his cruiser without another word.

The red and blue lights stopped flashing, leaving us in the dim gray of the snowstorm.

The cruiser’s engine roared, and the tires spun on the slush before gripping the road and driving away.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

My knees felt weak, and I slumped against the cold metal of the guardrail.

Adrian didn’t look at me.

His focus was entirely on the phone.

“He’s gone,” Adrian said to Miller. “Now, let’s talk about my wife.”

“The Department of Justice doesn’t just hand out blank checks, Adrian,” Miller said.

“She didn’t sign the papers,” Adrian said. “She didn’t run the shell companies. She is innocent.”

“She lived in the house,” Miller said. “She used the bank accounts.”

“Because I lied to her,” Adrian said.