The high beams remained on, blinding us in the rearview mirror.

“It is Richard Cole,” I said, staring at the metadata of the deletion command.

“The digital signature belongs to his personal terminal.”

“Cole,” Adrian muttered, his jaw tightening.

“I knew he was close with the Vances, but I did not think he was this foolish.”

“He is deleting the files from his residence in Gold Coast,” I said.

My fingers tapped rapidly on the tablet screen.

I deployed a counter-protocol I had built three months ago.

It was a sandbox trap designed to quarantine unauthorized file modifications.

“Can you stop him?” Adrian asked.

His eyes were fixed on the side mirror.

Two figures stepped out of the car behind us, wearing dark raincoats.

“I need a stable connection,” I said.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“The car’s network is jammed,” I said.

“Use the satellite backup in the armrest,” Adrian said.

He flipped open the leather console and pressed a small red toggle.

A blue light flickered on beside a heavy-duty router casing.

I plugged my tablet directly into the auxiliary port using a high-speed cable.