“How did the internal auditors miss this?” I asked.

“He was using a mirrored server,” Philip said, his voice barely a whisper from the corner of the room. “The auditors were only given access to the dummy portal.”

He sat down in one of the leather chairs, burying his face in his hands.

“The real server is physically located in his private office at the Mercer headquarters on Lexington Avenue,” Philip added.

Lena looked up at me, her eyes cold and sharp.

“If that server is still active, he can wipe it remotely the moment his lawyers tell him we have these files,” she said.

“Can we lock his access?” I asked.

“Not without a federal warrant,” Lena said. “This is beyond the scope of a civil board dispute now.”

She picked up her desk phone and dialed a ten-digit number.

“Who are you calling?” Philip asked, looking up with sudden panic.

“Assistant U.S. Attorney Vance,” Lena said, waiting for the call to connect. “He’s been investigating Grant’s real estate syndicates for six months.”

She held up a single finger to silence Philip as someone answered on the other end.