“You’re young, Avery,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“You don’t know how fast they can freeze those accounts.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I said.

“I’ve spent ten years ignoring your calls, and I’m not starting now.”

“He has people on the inside, Avery,” she said.

“Your father isn’t acting alone.”

I swiped the screen and ended the call, throwing the phone back into the cup holder.

I turned off the highway and drove down the dark, snow-dusted avenues of the industrial park.

The Northline Logistics sign hung crookedly under a flickering halogen light in the distance.

I pulled up to the security gate, tapped my badge against the reader, and waited for the metal arm to lift.

The massive warehouse sat like a sleeping beast in the freezing dark.

Only a single light burned in the main office window on the second floor.

I parked my truck next to Calvin’s beat-up Ford F-150.

The wind howled as I stepped out, the cold biting through my jeans instantly.

I jogged toward the side door, my boots crunching on the fresh, icy powder.