The call went to voicemail, and the phone went dark, leaving only my reflection in the black glass.

Then the screen lit up again.

The door of the building we were passing began to open, and a crowd of federal agents poured out onto the steps.

I pressed the phone to my ear.

“Claire,” a voice on the other end said, urgent and breathless.

“Do not go back to the penthouse.”

I froze, my hand tightening on the leather seat.

“Who is this?” I whispered.

The line crackled, the signal weak as we entered the shadow of the overpass.

“It’s Eleanor,” the voice said. “They found the rest of the files.”

“They know about the second account.”

“And they are coming for you.”

I looked at Gabriel, but his eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed.

“We’re being followed,” he said quietly.

The driver accelerated, the engine roaring as we merged into the fast lane.

Behind us, a black SUV cut through the traffic, its headlights flashing in the afternoon glare.

The phone in my hand went dead.