Through the rain-streaked windshield, I saw Graham reach the passenger side door.

He grabbed the handle and pulled, but the lock held.

His face was pressed against the glass, distorted and furious.

“Open the door!” he screamed, his voice muffled by the glass.

Vance Harrison stood a few feet back, his hands in his pockets, watching us with a cold, calculated stare.

Daniel shifted the car into reverse and slammed on the gas.

The tires spun on the wet asphalt, spraying water as we backed out of the alley.

Graham fell back, losing his grip on the handle.

Daniel shifted into drive and tore down the street, the wipers struggling to clear the torrential rain.

I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Vance and Graham standing under the flickering streetlamp.

Vance was already on his cell phone, his face illuminated by the screen.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“Rachel’s office,” Daniel said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“He’s going to try to block us,” I said. “Vance knows we have the ledger now.”