He pulled out his mobile phone and tapped the screen.

“Marcus,” Vincent said when the call connected. “I am sending you five account numbers.”

He read the first two sequences aloud, his voice flat and calm.

“I want them locked by morning,” Vincent said. “Use the offshore contacts in Cyprus. Trigger the anti-money laundering protocol on Vanguard Marine.”

He listened for a moment, his eyes staring out at the rain-slicked cables of the bridge.

“I do not care if Corrado notices,” Vincent said. “I want him to notice. I want him to think Paul is stealing from him.”

He hung up the phone without another word.

We drove in silence for twenty minutes, leaving the city behind and entering a quiet neighborhood of brick brownstones.

The car pulled up to the curb in front of a house with dark windows and a small iron gate.

The street was empty, save for a few parked cars reflecting the yellow glow of the streetlights.

A guard in a heavy black coat stood near the iron gate, his hands buried deep in his pockets.