I let out a breath I had been holding since the front door opened.

“Thank you, Marcus,” I said. “Keep the site secured until the federal marshals arrive.”

“We are on it, Colonel,” he said, and the line went dead.

I handed the phone back to the agent.

Eleanor was watching me, her fingers laced together.

“Was it Denise?” she asked.

“She tried to clear out the Sacramento files,” I said.

“She always knew where the backup keys were kept,” Eleanor said, her voice flat.

The front doors of the estate groaned open, and footsteps echoed on the limestone floor.

Denise walked into the library, her heels clicking rapidly against the polished stone.

She wore a beige trench coat, and her hands were shaking as she clutched a designer handbag.

Two federal agents followed her closely, their hands resting near their holsters.

“What is going on here?” Denise demanded, looking at Gregory, who was still handcuffed near the terrace doors.

Gregory did not look at her; his eyes were fixed on the Persian rug.

“They have the Sacramento records, Denise,” I said.