“We have keys,” Harrison stammered, though his eyes darted away toward the floor.

“I changed the locks two weeks ago, Harrison,” I said. “How did you get in?”

He didn’t answer, his gaze shifting back to the black folder in his hands.

“It doesn’t matter,” Patricia said, stepping past him with a sudden, sharp movement. “We are leaving now.”

She began shuffling the papers, trying to slide them into her large leather handbag.

I noticed her hands were shaking, a rare crack in her perfect, icy exterior.

“Those papers stay here,” I said, blocking the path to the elevator vestibule.

“These are private corporate documents of Voss Holdings,” Patricia said, her voice hardening. “They have nothing to do with you.”

“They have everything to do with me if they contain my money,” I said.

A sudden, heavy chime echoed from the elevator vestibule.

The metal doors slid open with a soft hiss.

Two Minneapolis police officers stepped out, their heavy boots thudding on the hardwood floor.

Behind them came Elena Ruiz, her sharp eyes instantly taking in the scene.