“I know what Ben left you,” she said, her teeth chattering from the cold or the panic. “I know he kept records of the shipping manifests. The offshore accounts. Everything.”

“It’s over,” Marcus said quietly.

Outside, the blue and red lights grew blindingly bright, casting long, rhythmic shadows through the frosted glass of the windows.

The rumble of heavy engines idling in the snow echoed from the driveway.

“It’s not over,” Vanessa whispered, her face turning a ghastly shade of white as she looked over her shoulder.

Through the open door, I saw three dark SUVs slide to a halt in the driveway, their tires crunching on the packed ice.

Men in dark tactical jackets with large, yellow letters across their chests began pouring out of the vehicles.

“Federal Bureau of Investigation!” a voice boomed through a megaphone, the sound echoing off the limestone cliffs behind the cabin. “Stay where you are!”

Vanessa spun back toward us, her eyes wide with a feral, cornered look.

“You did this,” she hissed at me, her knuckles turning white on the grip of the small pistol. “You ruined everything.”