I simply stepped back into the shadow of the hangar, watching as the officers approached.

Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

It was an unknown number, but the area code was from the federal building downtown.

I swiped to answer.

“Evelyn,” the voice on the other end said.

It was my father’s head of security, Marcus Vance.

“We have the federal marshals on site,” Marcus said, his voice flat and calm.

“I see them,” I said.

I looked out from the shadow of the hangar.

The wind from the runway whipped the hem of my coat against my shins.

Nolan’s hand dropped from the airplane door handle.

His fingers were trembling so hard I could hear the metal zipper on his sleeve clicking against the fuselage.

“Step away from the aircraft, Mr. Pierce,” the lead marshal said.

The marshal was a broad-shouldered man with gray hair and a thick leather folder tucked under his arm.

Marjorie let out a sharp, strangled noise.

She clutched her designer handbag to her chest like a shield.