I never informed my stepfather that I had spent ten years as an elite covert operative for the Defense Intelligence Agency. As far as he knew, I was simply Eleanor’s meek daughter—the woman who dropped by for polite visits, measured her words carefully, and bit her tongue whenever he belittled my desk job.

While my mother slept in the guest room, I booted up a heavily encrypted, offline laptop I kept in the cabin’s safe.

I plugged in Richard’s drive and bypassed the amateur passwords he had installed within three minutes. When the spreadsheets populated on my screen, the sheer scale of his stupidity made me clench my jaw.

Richard wasn't a criminal mastermind; he was a useful idiot.

He had been using his old real estate licenses to funnel money through dummy property management firms, cleaning the cash and sending it to offshore accounts. But the names tied to the routing numbers were what made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The Volkov Syndicate.

They were a ruthless Eastern European organized crime family operating out of Atlanta. They were known for human trafficking, extortion, and leaving zero witnesses. And Richard, in his infinite greed, hadn't just been laundering their money.

He had been skimming off the top.

According to the ledger, Richard had stolen nearly $2.5 million from the Volkovs over the last three years, hiding it in a private Cayman account.

My burner phone suddenly buzzed on the desk.

It was a text from an unknown number.

Bring her back. Bring the drive. If you don't, I call the police and report her for grand larceny. You have until noon tomorrow, or she spends the rest of her life in federal prison.

Richard was cornered, desperate, and lashing out. He thought he held the winning hand because he controlled the narrative.

He didn't realize he was playing against someone who owned the board.

I typed a reply.

We will meet tomorrow at your country club. 1:00 PM. Come alone.

I powered down the burner, snapped the SIM card in half, and walked over to my tactical locker. I pulled out a secure satellite phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years.

“Yeah?” a gruff voice answered on the first ring.