He snatched the silver hard drive and slipped it into his pocket.

“Margaret,” Alexander said into the phone. “We have to go. Did the scans go through?”

“I have forty percent of them,” Margaret said, her voice tense. “The rest didn’t upload yet.”

“I have the physical copies,” Alexander said. “I’m hanging up now. Meet me at the office at six tomorrow morning.”

“Understood,” Margaret said. “Be careful, Alexander.”

The line went dead.

Alexander turned off the desk lamp, plunging the library into near-total darkness.

Only the faint blue glow of the scanner screen and the headlights from outside lit the room.

“Mommy?” Noah’s voice was trembling now.

“Shh,” I said, moving quickly to the sofa and wrapping my arms around both boys. “It’s okay. Just stay quiet.”

Through the heavy oak door of the library, we heard the sound of the front door of the house opening.

The heavy lock clicked, and the hinges groaned.

Footsteps echoed in the cavernous stone entryway.

They were slow, deliberate, and loud.

The sharp click of high heels on the slate floor.

“Alexander?” a voice called out.