I looked directly into Grant’s eyes, watching the sudden panic take root.

“And you had my signature,” I said. “Or rather, a very good imitation of it.”

Grant looked from me to the federal marshals standing near the door.

One of the marshals drew a pair of steel handcuffs from his tactical belt.

The metallic click echoed in the high-ceilinged room.

“We know where the money came from, Grant,” I said.

“It was a standard subcontract,” Grant stammered, his hands beginning to shake.

“It was classified defense spending,” General Vance said. “And it is missing from the Pentagon’s logistics budget.”

The rain poured harder, drumming against the glass.

Outside, the blue and red lights of three more government sedans began to flash against the wet pine trees.

A phone on the console table began to ring, its screen lighting up with an unknown number.

The phone on the mahogany console table vibrated, sliding an inch to the left before falling silent.

No one moved to answer it.

General Vance did not even look at the device.