“We need to get ahead of this,” Elena said, starting her engine. “I’ll call the forensic accountant tonight. We need to be ready for whatever they do next.”

I looked down at my hands.

My phone vibrated in my coat pocket, the screen lighting up with a private number.

I slid my finger across the glass and put the phone to my ear.

“Claire,” a sharp, familiar voice said on the other end.

It wasn’t Harrison.

It was Patricia Voss.

“I understand you had a little meeting with my son,” she said, her voice smooth and entirely devoid of warmth.

“He told me everything, Patricia,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I know about the offshore transfers.”

Patricia let out a soft, dry laugh that sounded like paper rubbing together.

“My dear,” she said, “you don’t know anything at all, but you are about to learn exactly what it costs to cross me.”

The line went dead.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the dark screen.

“What did she say?” Elena asked, her eyes catching mine in the rearview mirror.