He grabbed my arm, his grip firm and steadying.

“The courthouse is three blocks away,” he said. “Gavin’s bail hearing starts in twenty minutes.”

“They want the audit, Daniel.”

“They won’t get it,” he said, patting the leather briefcase. “I’ve already uploaded the final files to the federal prosecutor’s secure server.”

He led me toward the back exit of the office, away from the alley.

We stepped out into a narrow corridor that smelled of damp concrete and old cardboard.

Daniel pushed open a heavy metal door that led to the side street.

The cold coastal rain hit my face, shocking my senses.

We walked quickly, our heads down against the wind.

I kept looking back, half-expecting the black sedan to round the corner with its tires screeching.

But the street remained empty, save for a few hurried pedestrians holding umbrellas.

The county courthouse loomed ahead, a massive limestone building with gray stone pillars.

Water cascaded down the wide steps, pooling on the cracked sidewalk.

We ran up the stairs, our shoes slipping slightly on the wet stone.

Inside, the lobby was warm and smelled of floor wax and wet wool.