His hands shook as he rummaged through the files.

Outside, the distant rumble of thunder shook the concrete walls of the compound.

“Here,” Dr. Vance said, holding up a small, rectangular plastic drive with blue rubber edges.

“Does it have the original source files for the bank transfers?” I asked.

“It has the metadata,” he said. “It shows the creation dates. They were created three months before your divorce was even filed.”

I reached out and took the drive, slipping it into my tactical vest pocket.

“Now we leave,” I said.

Before we could turn toward the door, a sharp electronic chime sounded from the computer on the desk.

The screen suddenly flared to life, casting a bright blue light across the room.

A video feed appeared on the screen.

It showed the private terminal lobby upstairs.

Maren was sitting in a steel chair in the center of the room.

Her hands were bound behind her back, and two of Tessa’s private security guards stood behind her.

Tessa herself was standing in front of Maren, holding a phone to her ear.