“Grant isn’t at his apartment, and he isn’t at Darrow House,” I said.

“Where is he?” Vance asked.

“He’s on his way to Teterboro,” I said. “He booked a charter flight out of the country.”

“We don’t have the arrest warrant processed yet,” Vance said, his brow furrowing.

“The prosecutor is still drafting the complaint based on these new files.”

“If he gets on that plane, you will never see him again,” I said.

Lena stepped forward, her voice sharp.

“You have proof of flight risk and destruction of evidence right here. Use the wire transfer as emergency grounds.”

Vance grabbed his radio and pressed the button.

“This is Vance,” he said. “Get me the Port Authority police at Teterboro, now.”

Suddenly, the landline phone on Grant’s desk began to ring.

The red light on the console flashed repeatedly in the semi-darkness.

I walked over, looking down at the digital display.

The incoming number was Margaret Mercer’s private line.

I picked up the receiver and pressed it to my ear.

“Grant,” Margaret’s voice said, her tone sharp and demanding.