I stood up and went back to the kitchen.

The kettle was starting to whistle, a low, steady sound.

Ryker was still staring at his computer screen.

“Evelyn,” he said, not looking up.

“Look at this.”

I leaned over his shoulder.

He pointed to a spreadsheet with dozens of foreign transactions.

“These are wire transfers from the Vale family trust,” he said.

“Three million dollars moved in the last three weeks alone.”

“Where did it go?” I asked.

“An account in Zurich,” Ryker said.

“But the account name is a shell company registered in Panama.”

“Can we prove Marissa owns the Panama company?”

“Not yet,” Ryker said.

“That is what Marco’s contact is trying to find out.”

“If we can link her name to that Panama account, we have her.”

Marco’s phone buzzed on the counter.

We both jumped.

Marco picked it up immediately, his eyes scanning the screen.

“It is a text from the Chicago office,” Marco said.

“The police just showed up at Ryker’s penthouse.”

My breath caught.

“What?” Ryker asked, his voice sharp.

“They have a search warrant,” Marco said.