“The one Maeve has hidden.”

Victor paused.

One of his guards looked at him, waiting for the signal to fire.

“You are bluffing, Roman,” Victor said.

“Am I?” Roman replied.

“Ask her.”

“She knows my routing codes.”

“She knows Declan’s supply routes.”

“She knows your bank in Zurich, Victor.”

“The one listed under the name of your deceased sister.”

Victor’s face hardened.

The patronizing smile vanished from his lips.

The silver-haired man gripped the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“How do you know that name?” Victor asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“I am a flower girl, Victor,” I said.

“People talk when they buy roses for graves.”

“And some people leave their notebooks in the back of black sedans.”

In the silence that followed, a low static hiss came from a speaker mounted on the wall near the shipping containers.

A rough, gravelly voice broke through the static.

“Callahan,” the voice said.

It was Vance.

“The girl is telling the truth.”

“Our accounts just went red.”

“You set us up.”

Richard froze.

“No, Vance, wait—” Richard stammered.