The billionaire stepped back as if he had been struck in the chest.

His hand shook slightly, the remote control trembling in his grip.

“What is this?” Kane whispered.

“It is your retirement plan,” I said.

I stepped forward, keeping my body between his guards and the lower deck door.

Eli was still there, his small fingers gripping the edge of the wood.

Isabella took a slow step to the left, drawing Marcus’s attention away from the boy.

“Shut it down,” Kane screamed, his face flushing a deep, angry red.

“Marcus, cut the power to the satellite antenna!”

Marcus reached for his radio, but his fingers were clumsy in his haste.

“It is too late for that,” I said.

“The file is already on their main servers,” I added.

“Every station in Chicago has the full recording of your confession.”

“They have the financial logs of the Blackwood Towers accounts.”

“And they have your face,” I said.

Kane looked at the monitor again.

The news anchor was already reading from a sheet of paper.

She mentioned the Chicago Police Department’s internal affairs division.