It was a woman’s voice, low and hurried.

“Don’t let them take the files,” she said.

“They aren’t who you think they are.”

“Lila?” I whispered, turning my back slightly to Agent Miller.

“He’s not FBI, Clara,” Lila said, her voice shaking through the static. “Arthur hired him. They are private security investigators, and they want the offshore ledgers before the actual federal authorities get there.”

I looked at Miller.

His badge looked authentic, but his shoes were too expensive for a government salary, and his fingernails were too manicured.

I lowered the phone but did not hang up.

“You are not federal agents,” I said, keeping my voice level.

Miller’s expression hardened, his polite mask slipping away in an instant.

“Mrs. Lawson, let us not make this more difficult than it needs to be,” he said, taking a step closer.

“My attorney is downstairs with the local police,” I lied, keeping my eyes fixed on his. “They are waiting for my signal.”

He hesitated, his hand hovering near his jacket pocket.

The heavy wooden door behind him clicked open, and Arthur Vance walked into the room.