The line went dead.

I looked at Daniel, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Daniel,” I said. “We need to get to the computer. Right now.”

Daniel and I hurried down the narrow attic stairs, our boots loud on the uncarpeted wood.

We entered the study, where Daniel’s laptop sat open on the mahogany desk.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, the screen casting a pale blue light over his face.

“She wasn’t lying,” Daniel said, pointing at the monitor.

“Look at the timestamp on this pending wire.”

A transfer of four million dollars had been initiated from the foundation’s primary reserve account.

“Where is it going?” I asked, gripping the edge of the desk.

“An offshore bank in the Cayman Islands,” Daniel said. “But it hasn’t cleared the intermediary clearinghouse yet.”

“Can we stop it?” I asked.

Daniel picked up his phone and dialed a direct number. “I need to speak to the fraud division at clearinghouse operations immediately.”

He gave them the authorization codes we had just pulled from Vance’s encrypted files.

I held my breath as he spoke in quiet, precise terms.