“Get us to the executive terminal at O’Hare,” Gabriel said as we climbed into the back seat. “Avoid the highway if you can.”

“Yes, sir,” Vance said, shifting the vehicle into drive.

I clutched my leather bag to my chest.

Inside were my bank statements, my remaining savings, and the bundle of letters from my mother.

They were the only things of value I had left.

Gabriel opened his laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard as the SUV accelerated.

“The transport van was hit three miles from the courthouse,” Gabriel said, looking at the screen. “A black sedan cut them off. Two men broke the rear lock.”

“He had help,” I said.

“Ethan’s old contacts, likely,” Gabriel said. “But they won’t get far. The state police have already set up roadblocks.”

We turned onto a side street, the tires splashing through deep puddles of standing water.

The city lights looked cold and distant through the rain-streaked window.

My phone buzzed again in my hand.

This time, it was a text message from an unknown number.

It was a photo.