The room was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

“It’s frozen,” Daniel said, hanging up the phone.

“They stopped the routing before the final bounce.”

I let out a long breath, my hands trembling slightly against the cool wood of the desk.

“That was their last card,” Daniel said.

The front door bell rang, echoing through the quiet house.

I walked down the hallway and opened the heavy front door to find Rachel standing on the porch.

She wore a dark grey trench coat, her leather briefcase gripped tightly in her hand.

“Is it done?” Rachel asked, stepping into the warm hallway.

“We stopped the transfer,” I said. “And we have the ledger.”

“Good,” Rachel said, her face tightening. “The federal prosecutors are ready to move.”

“We need to go to the metropolitan offices now.”

We drove through the rain to the city.

The tires hummed against the wet asphalt, and the windshield wipers kept a steady rhythm.

The lobby of the Hart Foundation building was cold and quiet when we arrived.

We took the elevator to the penthouse suite.