Two black sedans were parked near the entrance, their hazard lights blinking.

I pulled the SUV into the courtyard, the tires spitting gravel.

A group of armed federal agents emerged from the building, led by a tall woman in a dark trench coat.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Vance—no relation to Eleanor—stepped forward, her face grim.

I put the vehicle in park and turned off the ignition.

“Wait here with Marco,” I told the children.

Marco’s vehicle pulled into the courtyard behind us, his front bumper dented but his expression calm.

He stepped out and stood by my passenger door, his hand resting near his holster.

I opened my door, the cold Pacific Northwest air hitting my face.

I walked to the rear of the SUV, opened the trunk, and pulled out a heavy metal case.

Inside was the decryption drive, containing every transaction, email, and offshore account statement Eleanor Vance had used to dismantle her late husband’s empire.

“You’re late, Steel,” Agent Harris said, stepping up beside the prosecutor.

“We had a detour,” I said, handing him the case.

“Is this everything?” the prosecutor asked, her fingers brushing the cold metal.