“You think you’ve won,” Callum said, stopping at the foot of the bed. “You think because Voss walked out on me, and because Whitaker is gone, that you have the upper hand.”

“Whitaker is dead, Callum,” I said. “I saw the news.”

A small, cold smile touched the corner of his mouth, but it did not reach his eyes.

“Accidents happen on the interstate in this weather,” he said. “People get careless.”

“You did it,” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied. “But I know what you have in that bag on the chair. I know what Arthur has been carrying for you.”

He pointed a finger at the leather folder Arthur was holding.

“The ledger,” Callum said. “My father’s private records. You think that is going to save you.”

“It has already saved me,” I said. “The federal prosecutors have everything they need.”

“They have nothing until it is admitted in court,” Callum said. “And you won’t live to see that hearing if you don’t cooperate.”

He reached into his overcoat pocket.