“It’s almost nine o’clock.”

“Call her,” Dominic said.

Marco dialed a number and put the phone on speaker, placing it on the table next to the laptop.

The line rang once.

Twice.

On the third ring, there was a sharp click.

The sound of heavy, ragged breathing filled the quiet room.

“Who is this?” a woman’s voice asked, tight and trembling.

“Dr. Hale,” Dominic said, stepping closer to the phone.

“It’s Dominic Valenti.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

“I told you never to call this number,” she whispered.

“Your mother has people watching my house.”

“They’ve been here all evening.”

My heart leaped into my throat.

“What do you mean?” Dominic asked.

“A black sedan,” Dr. Hale said, her voice rising in panic.

“It’s parked at the end of my driveway.”

“They know I have the files, Dominic.”

“They’re coming for me.”

Before Dominic could answer, a loud crash echoed through the phone.

It was the sound of breaking glass.

Then, a sudden, muffled scream.

And then, the line went dead.

The silence in the room was absolute.