“I see you looking at the ledger,” he whispered.

A soft chime sounded from my phone.

A text message notification popped up at the top of the screen.

It was an image.

I pulled the phone away from my ear to look at it.

It was a live photograph of a quiet, tree-lined street in Chicago.

My sister’s front door was visible in the center of the frame.

A man in a dark coat was standing on the porch, his hand on the doorbell.

“Now,” Derek’s voice came through the speaker, cold and steady. “Are we going to play nice, or do I have my friend knock?”

My throat went completely dry.

The photo on the screen stayed bright, burning into my eyes.

“Derek, stop,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Then step away from the terminal, Clara,” he said.

“And tell your new protector that his playground is about to burn.”

The line went dead with a soft click.

My hand shook so hard the phone almost slipped from my fingers.

I turned back to the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs.