“That is generations of family history.”

“It is the proceeds of treason,” I said.

“And you are going to watch them carry it out, piece by piece.”

The headlights of the sedan flickered again.

The rear passenger window slowly rolled down.

Patricia Monroe’s face appeared in the gap.

Her gray hair was damp, but her eyes were wild with rage.

“Grant!” she screamed over the wind.

“Get back in the car!”

She glared at me, her fingers clawing at the leather of the door frame.

“You ungrateful bitch,” she spat.

“I welcomed you into my home.”

“You welcomed a federal agent into your conspiracy, Patricia,” I said.

I turned away from them and walked toward the SUV.

“We need to reach the terminal,” I told Vance.

“Let the seizure teams handle the rest.”

Vance nodded and opened the passenger door for me.

But before I could step inside, the radio on his shoulder crackled to life.

A sharp, distorted voice came through the static.

“General, we have a problem at the front gate,” the voice said.

We both froze.

“Report,” Vance said, pressing his hand to his shoulder.