I pulled my personal phone from my pocket and connected the small lightning-to-USB adapter I had hidden in my drawer.

I slotted the metal thumb drive into the adapter and opened my secure email app.

My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone onto the hardwood floor.

I addressed the email to Annika’s private, encrypted address.

I attached the entire directory of copied files, including the L-Three transaction history and the offshore wire receipts.

In the subject line, I typed a single word: *L-Three*.

I tapped the send button and watched the small status wheel spin.

Outside, the wind rattled the bare branches of the oak trees against the windowpane.

A heavy gray sheet of winter clouds sat low over the suburban roofs.

My phone vibrated in my palm, indicating the email had sent successfully.

I quickly deleted the sent message from my outbox and cleared the trash folder.

I pulled the adapter out, hid the USB drive inside the lining of my winter coat hanging in the mudroom, and went down to the kitchen.

Laura was busy at the marble island, chopping shallots with practiced, rhythmic speed.