I kept my hand on the receiver, but the line to Margaret had already gone dead.

“We have a runner on the south stairwell,” a voice crackled over Vance’s radio.

“It’s not Grant,” Vance said, looking at the security monitor on the wall. “It’s his personal driver.”

On the screen, a man in a dark suit was running toward the basement garage, carrying a leather duffel bag.

“Let him go,” I said, stepping back toward the desk. “He’s a distraction.”

Lena was already leaning over the laptop, her fingers moving rapidly across the keys.

“Grant isn’t in the house,” she said, her voice tight. “Look at the active transactions.”

I looked down at the glowing monitor.

A digital ledger showed a series of rapid transfers originating from a shell company in Vanuatu.

“Eighty-five thousand dollars,” Lena said, pointing at the screen. “It just cleared.”

“Who is the recipient?” I asked.

“Apex Aviation,” she said. “They run private charters out of Teterboro.”

Vance stepped up beside us, his eyes scanning the transaction details.

“He’s bypassing the commercial terminals,” Vance said. “The flight plan was filed twenty minutes ago.”