His chest heaved as he leaned his forehead against the cold wood.

“Are you alright?” he asked, turning back to me.

“I am,” I said, though my hands were shaking.

He walked over and took my hands in his, warming them.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he said. “Or the children.”

The sirens grew louder, finally stopping outside our front entrance.

Benjamin had called them before we even arrived, having tracked the burner phone signals.

Two police officers knocked on the glass door of the studio.

Jonathan opened it, his demeanor calm and cooperative.

“They were looking for the files,” Benjamin said, stepping inside behind the officers.

He wore a dark overcoat, his face pale from the cold.

“Rebecca’s bank accounts were frozen an hour ago,” Benjamin added quietly to Jonathan. “She was desperate.”

The officers took our statements, writing in small black notebooks.

I showed them the video on my phone, and they took a digital copy of the file.

“We have a car stationed at the end of the block,” one officer said before leaving. “You’ll be safe tonight.”