Damon snatched the receiver off the cradle immediately.

“Vale,” he barked.

He listened in silence, his expression hardening into stone.

His eyes locked onto mine, and the warmth in them vanished.

“Bring it up,” Damon said, and slammed the receiver back down.

“What is it?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“A courier just left a package at the side gate,” Damon said.

“The guard said the delivery driver rode a black motorcycle with no plates and wore a tinted helmet.”

“He didn’t wait for a signature.”

A rapid knock sounded on the study door.

Damon strode across the room and yanked it open.

Harris, our head of security, stood in the hallway.

He was holding a small, padded yellow envelope in his gloved hands.

“We ran it through the scanner, Mr. Vale,” Harris said quickly. “It’s not explosive.”

“But you need to see what’s inside.”

Damon took the envelope and tore it open with a single, violent motion.

He tipped the contents onto the desk.

A small black USB drive slid out, followed by a folded sheet of white paper.