“So, Julian fixed the problem another way.”

“An accident on the icy road, a faked death certificate, and a quiet room in this facility.”

“It was perfect until Mr. Whitmore here started digging around.”

My father let out a soft groan, his head drooping against my shoulder.

“He is freezing, Trevor,” I pleaded.

“Let him go inside. He has nothing to do with this anymore.”

“I am afraid he has everything to do with this,” Trevor said, raising his pistol again.

“And so do you.”

“No one leaves this courtyard alive.”

Charles did not flinch.

He stepped half a foot closer to Trevor, narrowing the distance.

“The Bellamy Group is crumbling, Trevor,” Charles said.

“My lawyers have already sent the financial records to the federal investigators.”

“You are holding a sinking ship.”

Trevor’s jaw tightened, his professional calm slipping for the first time.

“Then I will sink with it, but not before I finish the job,” Trevor spat.

He raised his left hand to his collar, pressing a small black walkie-talkie.

“Bring the van around to the loading dock,” Trevor ordered into the mic.