“Then we have to show him tonight,” Vanessa said, standing up. “We can’t wait until morning.”

I grabbed my coat and the manila envelope, tucking the physical wire transfers securely inside.

“I’m coming with you,” Vanessa said, wiping the remaining mascara from her face with the towel.

“It’s dangerous for you,” I said, looking toward the dark windows. “Grant is looking for you.”

“It is more dangerous for me to stay here,” she said, her voice steadying.

We walked down the stairs in silence, our footsteps echoing in the empty lobby.

I checked the street through the frosted glass of the front door, but the sidewalk was empty.

The rain was still falling, a steady drumbeat against the stone steps as we ran to my car.

I started the engine, the headlights cutting through the darkness of the corporate district.

“Where does Arthur Bell live?” Vanessa asked, leaning against the passenger door.

“The historic district,” I said, shifting the car into drive. “Just ten minutes from here.”

As we pulled away from the curb, a pair of headlights turned onto the street behind us, maintaining a distance of three car lengths.