“Thank you, Ms. Mercer,” Julian said. “This will be delivered directly to the federal prosecutor’s office.”

Sloane let out a long, ragged breath and took off the green-stoned ring.

She walked over to the altar and placed it on the silver tray beside the church keys.

“I never liked the color anyway,” Sloane said, her voice cracking.

I looked at the ring, the gold band worn thin from decades of use on my grandmother’s hand.

A heavy silence fell over the chapel, broken only by the sound of the rain drumming against the stained-glass windows.

Julian opened his briefcase and pulled out a slim tablet.

He plugged the flash drive into the side of the device.

“Let’s see what we have here,” Julian murmured, his thumb scrolling quickly across the screen.

I walked over to stand beside him, my wet shoes squeaking on the stone.

The screen lit up with columns of numbers, routing codes, and bank names I had never heard of.

“These are private accounts in the Cayman Islands,” Julian said, his eyes scanning the data.

“He has nothing there,” Marjorie said, her chin held high. “Those are empty.”