“He has the ledger,” I said. “He has the names of the offshore entities.”

The room went entirely quiet.

The low hum of the vending machine outside the door sounded loud.

“He wants forty-eight hours,” I said. “Before Victoria freezes the secondary accounts.”

Harris leaned forward, his elbows resting on the polished wood.

“We can’t grant blanket immunity without seeing what he has first,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “But we can make him think we’re playing along.”

“How?”

“I have a prenatal checkup tomorrow morning,” I said.

“At the Westwood Women’s Clinic.”

“It’s a private facility on the fourth floor of the Wilshire medical building.”

Harris frowned, studying my face.

“You want to use your medical appointment to set up a sting?”

“It’s the only place Victoria’s people won’t suspect immediately,” I said.

“Julian knows my schedule.”

“I’ll tell him I’m bringing the digital keys to the trust to that clinic.”

“But you don’t have them,” Harris said.

“He doesn’t know that,” I said. “He’s desperate, and he’s running out of options.”

Harris tapped his pen against his pad, the sound rhythmic and sharp.