“Daniel,” Grant whispered, his voice cracking. “Do something. Call the commissioner.”

Daniel did not look at him. His eyes were fixed entirely on Lena.

“We need ten minutes,” Daniel said to Lena. “If they arrest him in the lobby, the press will have photos before the ink is dry on his booking sheet.”

“That is not my concern,” Lena said, her fingers typing rapidly on her tablet.

“It is your concern if you want the signed confession before he is processed,” Daniel countered.

I watched Grant’s hands shake as he reached for the edge of the table to steady himself.

The rain outside seemed to grow louder, tapping against the thick glass pane of the boardroom.

“Lena,” I said quietly.

She paused her typing and looked up at me, her face expressionless.

“Give them ten minutes,” I said.

Lena nodded once, then looked back at the guard.

“Tell the marshals that Mr. Mercer is concluding a legal consultation and will surrender himself at the side exit in ten minutes,” Lena said.

The guard nodded and closed the heavy oak door behind him, leaving us in a stifling silence.