The caller ID on my secure line lit up with his contact name.

I pressed the button to decline the call.

“No,” I told the operator. “I will handle the civilians myself.”

I hung up the phone.

Outside, the high-pitched whine of heavy diesel engines began to echo up the winding gravel driveway.

The headlights of two black Chevrolet Suburbans cut through the early morning Colorado mist, sweeping across the front yard.

Daniel scrambled to his feet, turning toward the driveway as the vehicles pulled to a stop.

The doors of the lead vehicle opened, and two men in crisp, dark suits stepped out onto the gravel.

They did not look like local police.

They looked like the men who carried the authority of the federal government.

Daniel’s phone lit up again in his hand, a new notification flashing on the screen.

He stared at it, his thumb hovering over the glass.

I watched the reflection of the blue emergency lights flash against the dark wood of my study desk.

The notification on Daniel’s phone screen was an automated alert from our joint wealth management portal.