My personal phone, tucked deep inside my apron pocket, was buzzing.

Despite the jammer, a strong signal must have broken through near the staircase.

The screen lit up, shining through the thin fabric of my uniform.

Nico’s eyes instantly snapped down to my pocket.

The blue light of the jammer on his belt flickered, then went completely dark.

Above us, the heavy wooden door to the cellar stairs creaked open.

A pair of quick, light footsteps began to descend the wooden steps.

The footsteps stopped halfway down the wooden stairs.

Denise Vale stepped into the dim light of the cellar, her leather briefcase held tight against her chest.

She looked at Nico, then at the gun in his hand, and finally at me.

“The police are outside, Nico,” Denise said, her voice remarkably steady.

Nico did not flinch, but his eyes narrowed as he looked at the black screen of his dead signal jammer.

He slowly slipped the pistol back into the inner pocket of his charcoal wool overcoat.

“Then we have very little time to reach an agreement,” Nico said.