The elevator opened directly into the living room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city blurred by gray sheets of rain.

Elias was waiting for me.

He sat in a gray leather armchair, a glass of amber scotch resting untouched on the side table.

He had not changed his clothes, and his tie was slightly loosened.

He did not look up when I walked in, but his posture stiffened.

“You took your time,” he said, his voice echoing in the quiet room.

“I had to make sure the evidence was complete,” I replied.

I walked over to the glass coffee table and tossed the black solid-state drive onto the polished surface.

It made a sharp, clinking sound against the glass.

Beside it, I placed my phone, the screen displaying the photos of the sub-level logbook.

Elias looked down at the items, his brow furrowing.

“What is this?” he asked.

“That is the end of Daniel Carter,” I said, sitting on the sofa opposite him.

“On that drive are the offshore routing numbers Daniel used to siphon funds from your defense contracts.”