“He is not in that cab,” I realized.

“He set a decoy,” Julian said, looking back.

“You always underestimated me, Evelyn,” Bennett said over the phone.

“By the time your little court order is signed tomorrow, there will be nothing left for you to take.”

The line went dead.

“Priya!” I shouted. “Where is his phone signal?”

“He is at the Park Avenue building,” Priya said, her voice panicked. “He was never in the cab.”

“Marta is there alone,” I said.

My heart leaped into my throat.

“Thomas, turn around,” Julian ordered.

The sedan swerved, tyres splashing through the puddles as we headed back toward Manhattan’s upper east side.

The yellow lights of Park Avenue loomed in the distance.

I tried to call Marta back, but the line went straight to voicemail.

“Marta, please answer,” I muttered.

We pulled up to the grand awning of the Park Avenue building.

The doorman was not at his post.

The glass lobby doors were unlocked.

“Stay here,” Julian said, opening his door.

“No,” I said, stepping out into the cold rain. “This is my home.”