Hayes didn’t look down at Richard.

“Be quiet, Richard,” Hayes said.

He took a half-step back, trying to keep both me and Madison in his peripheral vision.

“It’s over,” Hayes said, his voice hardening.

“The paperwork is already filed. Your signatures are on the transfer documents.”

“They’re forgeries,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “The dead don’t contest handwriting.”

He braced his wrist with his left hand, locking his posture into a standard firing stance.

I saw the tension return to his shoulder.

The red light on the transceiver blinked twice, a double pulse that indicated an open channel on the receiving end.

Someone was listening.

The tactical feed was live.

I braced my legs, waiting for the split second his focus shifted to the sound of the radio.

Outside, a low rumble of thunder shook the glass panes.

A car door slammed in the distance, muffled by the storm.

Hayes’s eyes flicked toward the window.

The security monitor on the wall behind him crackled with a sudden burst of static.

On the small black-and-white screen, the main gate of the estate appeared.