“Our contacts confirmed she wired three million dollars out of Chicago yesterday.”

“She was clearing the slate,” I said.

“And leaving the wreckage behind,” Ryker added.

The ground crew rolled the jet bridge forward, aligning it with the aircraft cabin.

“She has her passport and three suitcases in the cargo hold,” Ryker said, his voice flat.

“She bought a one-way ticket to Zurich.”

“She was never planning to come back for them,” I said.

“No,” Ryker said.

His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, but his shoulders were rigid.

“She was running.”

The heavy metal door of the jet bridge clicked.

It swung open.

Two armed airport security officers stepped out first.

Between them walked Eleanor Vance.

She wore a cream-colored cashmere coat and large, dark sunglasses.

She was clutching a black alligator-skin handbag to her chest.

“This is an absolute outrage!” Eleanor hissed, her voice echoing in the tiled corridor.

“Do you have any idea who I am?”

“My husband is Edward Vance.”

“You cannot pull me off an international flight like a common criminal!”

The lead officer did not answer her.