Vance checked his wristwatch, then looked at the grandfather clock.

“We have fifteen minutes before our secure network initiates the automatic backup transfer,” he said.

“They are going to wipe it,” I said. “Or they are going to release it.”

“Where is the source?” Vance asked.

“The call was scrambled,” I said, tapping the screen to show him the string of zeros. “But they knew we were here.”

Vance turned to a young captain standing near the doorway.

“Get the tech team to run a tracer on that incoming call,” Vance ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the captain said, saluting before rushing up the stairs.

“We need to clear this house,” Vance said to me. “Get the suspects into the transport vehicles now.”

I turned toward the drawing room.

Patricia Monroe sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, her hands trembling as she held her silk robe closed.

An agent stood on either side of her, their faces expressionless.

Grant sat in a high-backed chair nearby, staring at his shoes.

“Let’s go,” I said, stepping into the room.

Patricia looked up at me, her eyes bloodshot and full of venom.