The video showed my sister, Sarah, tied to a wooden chair in a dark, windowless room.

Her eyes were wide with terror, a strip of grey duct tape covering her mouth.

Derek’s face appeared in the frame, smiling coldly at the lens.

“You took my money, Clara,” Derek said to the camera.

“So I took something of yours.”

The video ended, leaving a black screen.

“He is going to kill her,” I sobbed, burying my face in my hands.

Vincent stood up and walked to the window, looking out into the rainy courtyard.

“He wants a trade,” Vincent said. “But we do not know where he is.”

“He wants the ledger,” I said, looking up. “He wants me.”

Vincent did not turn around.

“I will not let him have either,” he said.

I knew Vincent’s men were searching, but they were too slow.

Every second they spent tracking IP addresses was a second my sister did not have.

I went to the guest bedroom Vincent had assigned to me on the second floor.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the polished floorboards.