I looked down at Nolan, who was looking up at me, his blue shirt catching the faint sunlight.

“Where are you, Daniel?” I whispered, my voice shaking.

I glanced at Nolan, who was busy trying to catch a raindrop on his fingertip.

Renee Whitaker watched me from the driver’s seat of her parked sedan, her brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m at the diner off Cherry Street,” Daniel said, his voice flat and dry. “The one with the broken neon sign.”

“Why are you calling me?” I asked.

“Because Grant is going to ruin both of us if he gets away with this,” Daniel said.

“He told the court he has no more assets,” I said.

“He lied,” Daniel replied. “The blue shirt he wore the night of the transaction—the one he made you wash.”

“I have that shirt,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “The school returned it after the incident.”

“Look inside the left cuff,” Daniel said. “The inner lining has a double seam.”

“What is in there?” I asked.

“The key to the offshore ledger,” Daniel said. “And the routing numbers for the account he used to hide his cash.”