A progress bar appeared: *Processing asset restriction on all linked offshore accounts.*

“No!” Marcus screamed.

On the video feed, the man in the passenger seat suddenly looked down at a separate tablet.

“Marcus,” the man said, his voice muffled. “The transactions are bouncing.”

“The Swiss accounts are locked.”

“Try the Cayman routing!” Marcus yelled, leaning over the seat.

“They are all locked,” the man said, his voice turning cold. “The funds are gone.”

The timer on the briefcase stopped at three minutes and forty-two seconds.

The red numbers blinked once, then went dark.

The man in the passenger seat turned around, staring at Marcus with an expression of pure anger.

“You lied to us,” the man said.

“You said the transfer was already cleared.”

“It was!” Marcus stammered, his face turning pale. “Emily, what did you do?”

“I ended it, Marcus,” I said, my voice finally finding its strength.

“You don’t have any money left to buy your way out.”

Adrian leaned forward, placing both hands on my desk.

“Your associates on the board are not going to save you either,” Adrian said.