The heavy deadbolt inside the door frame slid back with a loud click.

I pushed the heavy door open, letting the cold night air rush into the kitchen.

But before we could take a step outside into the rain, a phone on the counter rang.

It was a sleek, black smartphone belonging to Charles Whitmore.

The screen illuminated the dark granite, vibrating violently.

The caller ID displayed a single name: *Senator*.

I stared at the glowing screen as the phone continued to ring.

Beside me, Emily reached out and picked up the vibrating phone.

She looked at the screen, her eyes wide with a sudden, desperate realization.

“Dad,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain.

“He’s calling to confirm the transfer.”

I reached out and took the phone from her hand.

The sheriff’s heavy hand fell upon the kitchen doorknob.

I pressed my thumb against the screen, sliding it to accept the call, but I did not bring the phone to my ear.

Instead, I slipped the device into my jacket pocket, keeping the line open.