“I have the offshore routing numbers,” I said, holding up the binder.

“I tracked the three million dollars missing from the Vescari shipping accounts.”

Roman’s eyes flicked to me for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening.

“You didn’t just steal from Roman,” I continued, stepping forward despite the rifles pointed at us.

“You routed Declan Rourke’s hijacked arms shipments through the docks in sector four.”

“And you used Victor Salvi’s dummy corporations in the North End to wash the cash.”

The rain soaked through my hair, plastering it to my forehead.

My father’s smile faltered.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, though his grip on the satchel tightened.

“I know exactly what you did,” I said.

“I found the discrepancy in the ledger for the Calder City port authority.”

“The cargo manifests showed empty crates, but the weight logs didn’t match.”

“Those crates were filled with automatic rifles from Declan’s warehouse.”

“You bought these men with that money,” I said, pointing toward the tactical gear and the high-end rifles.

“You paid for their training, their body armor, and their loyalty.”