Richard groaned as they pinned him, his face pressed against the rough wood.

“What do you want us to do with him, Vescari?” Vance asked, looking toward the shadow boss.

Roman did not look at my father.

He looked at me, his blue eyes assessing me with a cold, new respect.

“The girl proved her point,” Roman said.

“The debt is no longer on her shoulders.”

“It belongs to the man who signed the original contract.”

Declan nodded, his rough hand resting on his holster.

“Take him,” Declan told Vance. “He is yours to settle with.”

My father began to scream, his voice echoing off the metal roof as the mercenaries dragged him toward the back of the truck.

He looked at me, his face pale with terror.

“Maeve! Please!” he shrieked. “Tell them! Tell them you made it up!”

I turned my back on him.

I pulled the leather-bound folder from my coat pocket.

The pages were dry, protected by the heavy plastic lining.

These were the final, corrected records of the Calder City docks.

They showed every dollar the three syndicates owed to each other, balanced down to the last cent.