She pulled out a small, leather-bound book with brass corners.

It was the Callahan family ledger.

“Julian is dead,” Adelaide said.

“Victoria found him at the harbor before he could leave.”

My breath caught in my throat, my hands dropping to my stomach.

“And now she knows you’re here.”

She stepped closer, her hand shaking violently as she held out the book.

“Take it,” she whispered.

“Take it and run before they get to the lobby.”

The fire alarm suddenly began to blare, a deafening screech that filled the small room.

The overhead fluorescent lights flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness.

Outside the door, I heard the sound of glass shattering.

I grabbed Adelaide’s cold hand.

The smell of smoke began to drift under the door.

“This way, through the service stairwell,” she gasped.

The heavy metal door groaned as she pushed it open.

Cold air from the alleyway hit my face, carrying the scent of wet asphalt and gasoline.

We descended the concrete steps into the dark.

My hands clutched the heavy brass corners of the leather ledger against my stomach.