I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone.

“If you don’t,” I said.

“I call the federal prosecutor’s office directly.”

“I have three thumb drives with your personal ledger entries.”

“They are already sitting in a safe deposit box.”

“But I can have the digital copies delivered to their inbox in five minutes.”

The room was silent except for Lila’s quiet whimpering.

Ethan’s gaze dropped to the pen lying on the table.

He reached out a trembling hand.

Just as his fingers touched the pen, the phone on the table lit up.

It was a private number, vibrating against the wood.

Then, the buzzer at the front door of the brownstone began to ring.

A loud, continuous press, followed by a heavy, authoritative knock.

“Federal agents,” a voice boomed from the street.

“Open the door.”

Ethan froze, the pen hovering an inch above the signature line.

He looked at me, his eyes wild with terror.

The knocking came again, louder this time, rattling the glass of the window downstairs.

“Sign it,” I whispered.

My voice was flat, contrasting with the heavy thuds against the oak door downstairs.