“Because I have Harrison’s personal ledgers,” Rebecca said.

The line went completely quiet.

“I have the offshore account numbers,” she continued. “The ones he used to pay off the judge in the custody filing.”

“I can prove Harrison orchestrated the entire thing.”

“I will give you everything,” she said. “But I want forty million dollars. And I want it signed before Harrison realizes what I’ve taken.”

Jonathan reached over and took the phone from my hand.

“Rebecca,” Jonathan said.

“Jonathan,” she said, her tone shifting to a desperate plea. “You have to believe me. Harrison has no intention of letting you walk away with your name.”

“Meet me,” Jonathan said. “Tonight.”

“No,” she said. “Harrison has people watching the penthouse. Meet me at the Brooklyn studio. Nine p.m.”

The line went dead.

Jonathan looked down at the phone, then at me.

“Is she telling the truth?” I asked.

“She is terrified,” Jonathan said. “When Rebecca is terrified, she sells out her allies.”

“It could be a trap,” Benjamin warned.

“We have to take the risk,” Jonathan said.

By eight thirty p.m., the rain had turned into a freezing drizzle.