When the elevator doors closed, my penthouse went silent.
Completely silent.
I stood in the middle of my study, phone pressed to my ear, staring at the empty hallway through the camera feed.
Nevada.
Of course.
Not Delaware. Not Wyoming. Not the Cayman structure my attorney had dismantled two years earlier. Nevada.
Ronald had always been lazy with details, but he had never been stupid. If he had found Nevada, then someone had led him there.
The dispatcher told me officers were on the way. I thanked her, gave my statement, and ended the call.
Then I crossed the room to the antique walnut cabinet beside the bookshelves.
It looked decorative. Priscilla had always hated it. She once called it “that ugly little relic” and suggested I replace it with Italian glass.
That ugly little relic had a biometric lock behind the left panel.
I pressed my thumb to the hidden scanner.
