The ledger data was still sitting there, a roadmap of the Syndicate’s entire financial network.

Every shell company, every hidden offshore account, every bribe paid to local transit authorities was laid bare.

I grabbed my thumb drive from my pocket, plugged it in, and copied the directory.

It took less than ten seconds, but it felt like a lifetime.

I needed Vincent.

The heavy metal door of the terminal room hissed open from the outside.

Vincent stood in the doorway, his dark wool coat draped over his shoulders.

His eyes swept the room and landed on my pale face.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

I held up the phone, showing him the photo of my sister’s porch in Chicago.

“Derek,” I said. “He has someone at my sister’s house.”

Vincent stepped into the room, his leather shoes clicking on the concrete floor.

He took the phone from my hand and studied the image.

“He is trying to leverage you,” Vincent said, his face hardening.

“I have their accounts,” I said, pointing to the glowing monitor.