“Every backroom deal, every offshore account, every Senator who took a bribe to look the other way.”

“Then we send it to the Senate Intelligence Committee,” I said, reaching for the drive.

Raymond pulled his hand back, shaking his head.

“It isn’t that simple,” he said.

“The files are encrypted with a military-grade algorithm I helped design.”

“So decrypt them,” I said.

“I can’t,” he said.

“I don’t have the key.”

I stared at him, my anger rising.

“You faked your death, left me to clean up your mess, and you don’t even have the key?”

“I couldn’t keep it on me,” Raymond said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“If Voss captured me, he would have tortured it out of me in an hour.”

“Then where is it?” I asked.

Raymond looked at me, his expression softening into deep sorrow.

“It’s in you, Natalie,” he said.

The room felt suddenly colder.

The rain beat against the windowpanes like a hammer.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“When you were eight years old, you fell ill,” Raymond said.

“That’s what we told you, at least.”