I tapped my tactical tablet, bringing up the network logs our cyber team had captured over the last forty-eight hours.

I held the screen in front of his face.

“This is the virtual drop box you set up,” I said. “You thought you were uploading the files to a secure private cloud.”

Grant squinted at the lines of green code scrolling down the screen.

“We mirrored the connection three weeks ago,” I said. “Every packet of data you sent went straight to our server in Fort Meade.”

His mouth opened slightly, but he did not speak.

“The buyers you’ve been messaging on the encrypted board?” I continued. “They don’t exist. You’ve been talking to my analysts.”

“No,” Grant whispered. “They paid. The deposit cleared on Tuesday.”

“That money was marked federal recovery funds,” I said. “The moment you touched it, you signed your own warrant.”

Grant looked at his mother.

Patricia was sitting on the edge of the velvet sofa, her hands gripping her pearl necklace so tightly the string looked ready to snap.

“It’s a setup,” Patricia said, her voice rising in pitch. “Grant, don’t say another word to her.”