I kept my eyes on the road, the wipers sweeping across the windshield.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He had help from someone inside your family,” Marcus said.

I slowed the car down as I approached a red light.

“My family?” I asked.

“The files Clara has aren’t the only ones,” Marcus said.

The line went quiet for a second, the only sound the steady beat of the rain on the roof.

“Look in your glove compartment,” Marcus said.

I reached across the passenger seat.

My fingers fumbled with the plastic latch of the glove compartment.

It clicked open, the small internal light casting a pale yellow glow over the leather interior.

Inside, resting on top of the vehicle registration documents, was a thick manila envelope.

“Do you see it?” Marcus asked through the speakers.

“Yes,” I said, my voice barely louder than the hum of the engine.

“Open it,” Marcus said. “I put it in there last night while your car was parked outside the studio.”

The traffic light ahead turned green, but I stayed put for a second, ignoring a light tap of a horn from the car behind me.