*She has the certificate. Do not let her leave the estate with the drive.*

I stared at the glowing screen as rain droplets smeared the glass.

The message had been sent to my phone, but the phrasing made no sense.

It was meant for someone else.

“Natalie?” Madison asked, her voice barely louder than the patter of the rain on the gravel. “Who is it?”

“My father,” I said, my thumb hovering over the screen. “Or someone working for him. He thinks he is texting someone else.”

I looked up at the main house, its dark windows staring back at us like empty eye sockets.

“He knows you took it,” I said.

Madison pulled her wet coat tighter around her shoulders.

Her teeth chattered, the sound sharp and rhythmic in the cold air.

“He was on the phone in his study when I took the briefcase,” she said.

“Who was he talking to?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “He kept using terms like ‘the manifest’ and ‘final disposal.’ I thought he was talking about the shipping containers from the port.”