“You cowards,” he hissed.

“I paid you a fortune.”

“No amount of money is worth federal prison, Mr. Whitmore,” the first guard said.

Charles turned back to the house.

He looked at the leather briefcase in his hand.

Then he looked at the glass doors of his study.

“The physical drives,” he whispered.

“They don’t have the encryption keys yet.”

“If I wipe the servers manually, they have nothing but circumstantial evidence.”

He turned and ran back inside, his leather shoes slipping on the wet stone.

I looked at Emily.

“Stay behind the helicopter,” I said.

“The pilot won’t move now.”

“Arthur, please,” she said.

Her fingers dug into my arm.

“Don’t go back in there.”

“I have to,” I said.

“If he destroys those files, the people who hurt you walk free.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

She looked at me, her eyes filled with fear, but she nodded.

She let go of my sleeve and stepped back toward the idling helicopter.

I turned and ran toward the veranda.

I passed Mercer, who was sitting on the steps with his head in his hands.