“The papers you took from Paul’s safe,” he whispered, his voice incredibly calm. “The ones with the Swiss routing numbers.”

I nodded, my chin scraping against his wool lapel.

“I used them,” Vincent whispered. “Three hours ago. I froze Corrado’s entire logistics ledger.”

My eyes widened in the dim light of the study.

“He is bankrupt, Lena,” Vincent said. “He has nothing left to lose. That is why they are here.”

A floorboard creaked in the dining room, just beyond the study door.

Vincent pulled me down, guiding me behind the massive mahogany desk.

The green banker’s lamp on the desk cast long, distorted shadows across the bookshelves.

“We have to go,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “They will look here first.”

“They will,” Vincent agreed. “But we are not going out the front.”

He reached under the kneehole of the desk and pressed a concealed brass lever.

With a dull click, a section of the wooden wainscoting behind the desk popped open an inch.

It smelled of damp concrete, old coal dust, and stagnant water.

“The old coal cellar,” Vincent said. “It connects to the municipal water line under the street.”