The tablet’s screen flickered, projecting a bright, clear image into the silent courtroom. Julian’s smirk didn't fade immediately; he believed Maya was about to play a pre-recorded statement he had coerced her into making—a carefully rehearsed lie about how I yelled at her or acted erratic.

My chest tightened as the flashlight beam bounced off the closet door where we had been standing seconds earlier.

Holding Maya tightly against my hip, I backed down the dark, dusty steps of the coal chute, descending into the cellar of the brownstone. The cool night air hit my face as I found the basement exit—a small iron storm door that opened into an alleyway behind the property.

I shoved the heavy iron doors open, scrambled into the rain-slicked alley, and bolted toward the main street.

As I rounded the corner, a dark SUV pulled up to the curb, its tires screeching against the wet pavement. The passenger door swung open.

"Clara! Get in!"

I halted, pulling Maya behind me.

Sitting in the driver's seat was Detective Marcus Reed—the local detective who had been assigned as my primary liaison during the financial investigation.

"Marcus?" I panted, rain dripping down my face. "How did you know where we were?"

"Agent Vance’s radio went dark five minutes ago," Marcus said urgently, waving his hand toward the back seat. "The safehouse was compromised from the inside. Someone leaked your location. We need to go now before they check the alley!"

I looked into his eyes. He looked genuinely terrified for us. But twelve years of analyzing deceit had trained me to look at the details others missed.

Marcus was wearing a pristine leather jacket. But on his wrist was a silver watch—a limited edition chronograph worth at least thirty thousand dollars.

A city detective on a fixed salary could never afford that watch.

It was the exact same model Julian had bought for himself three months ago.

"Clara, what are you waiting for?" Marcus shouted over the engine noise. "They’re coming out of the building!"

I took a step backward into the rain. "Where are you taking us, Marcus?"

"To the precinct!" he yelled. "Where it’s safe!"

"The precinct is west," I said softly, pointing down the street. "You’re facing east. Toward the private airstrip."

Marcus’s expression instantly changed. The urgency in his eyes melted away, replaced by a cold, calculating glare. He slowly reached down toward his belt.

"You really are as smart as Julian said," Marcus murmured, his voice dropping all pretense. "It’s a shame. You could have lived comfortable in a witness protection program if you had just stayed out of the accounts."

He pulled his sidearm.

Before he could raise the barrel, I slammed the heavy steel trash can standing next to me directly into his open driver-side door. The heavy metal crumpled against his arm, causing him to drop the gun onto the floorboard.