The scent of roasting garlic and rich beef stock already warmed the air.

My phone buzzed again in my pocket.

It was a text from Annika.

*Got it. Call me from a safe line.*

I walked past the kitchen and went into the small, windowless laundry room at the back of the house.

I closed the door, turned on the noisy washing machine to drown out my voice, and dialed Annika’s number.

She picked up on the first ring.

“Monica, these files are exactly what we needed,” Annika said, her voice sharp and professional. “It is far worse than we estimated.”

“Is it enough?” I whispered, leaning my back against the vibrating dryer.

“It is more than enough,” Annika replied. “He has been systematically draining the L-Three partnership accounts into a shell company registered in Belize.”

“Can he explain it away?” I asked.

“Not to the federal investigators who will be at his firm on Monday,” she said. “This gives us absolute leverage over his personal assets, the house, and his entire investment portfolio.”

I closed my eyes, feeling a cold wave of relief wash over me.