The metallic echo of the doorbell cut through the silence of my Chicago apartment like a serrated blade. On the television screen, the news anchor’s voice droned on, detailing the multi-million-dollar embezzlement scandal anchored to Bennett Senior Living. My cell phone was still warm against my ear, Allison’s panicked breathing hitching in the static-filled receiver.

The interior of the shipping warehouse smelled of damp cedar, diesel exhaust, and old salt. Towering stacks of shipping containers cast long, jagged shadows across the concrete floor, illuminated only by intermittent security lights high up on the steel rafters.

Marcus and I moved silently down aisle four, our tactical boots making barely a sound against the grit. Ahead of us, a single circle of harsh light revealed a metal desk. Sitting behind it was Julian Vance—older than Marcus, with silver-streaked hair and an impeccably tailored cashmere coat that looked entirely out of place in a drafty industrial port.

Standing beside him were two armed mercenaries, their handguns drawn and ready.

"I knew you'd come, little brother," Julian called out into the echoing space, not even bothering to turn around. "Though I expected Interpol, not a junior forensic auditor with a grudge."

"It's over, Julian," Marcus shouted, stepping out from behind a container with his service weapon raised. "Drop the weapon and step away from the terminal!"

Julian slowly turned around, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips. He didn't look like a cornered fugitive; he looked like a man who held all the winning cards.

"You think a federal warrant stops a global network, Marcus?" Julian laughed softly, gesturing to the laptop on the desk. "With one keystroke, I can wipe every escrow account in three Midwest states, plunging fifty thousand elderly residents into instant financial ruin. Are you willing to gamble their lives to put cuffs on your own brother?"

My heart skipped a beat. I stepped out from the shadows beside Marcus.