I walked into my daughter’s living room and found my tired three-year-old granddaughter lying

The Horizon Suites downtown was a monolith of dark glass and polished chrome rising thirty stories into the damp pre-dawn sky. Its lobby was a cavernous expanse of white marble and minimalist art, staffed by security guards in sharp grey suits who watched every visitor with hawklike precision.

I adjusted the collar of my borrowed security jacket—procured with Detective Miller’s quiet assistance—and kept my head down as I walked across the lobby toward the private elevator bank. My bruised jaw throbbed with every step, and my ribs burned where the mercenary had elbowed me, but I forced my posture straight. Adrenaline was once again burning through my veins, keeping the pain at bay.

I swiped a master keycard—borrowed from the precinct’s evidence locker, courtesy of Miller’s unofficial cooperation—against the elevator reader. The panel lit up with a soft chime, and the heavy doors slid shut, whisking me upward toward the fourth floor.

When the doors opened, the hallway was silent and deserted, carpeted in thick, sound-dampening wool that muffled my footsteps. I walked down the corridor until I found the brass numbers mounted beside a heavy mahogany door: *412*.

I slipped the master card into the electronic lock. The light flashed green with a soft, mechanical click.

I pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it silently behind me.

The suite was luxurious, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and room service coffee. But it was in complete disarray. Drawers had been pulled halfway out of their dressers; closet doors stood open, revealing empty hangers; and the king-sized bed had been stripped down to its bare mattress. They had packed in a desperate hurry.

I didn't waste time admiring the decor. I moved straight to the mahogany executive desk in the corner.

The surface was bare except for a leather blotter and a discarded pen. I ran my hands along the underside of the desk, feeling around the wooden framing until my fingertips brushed against a small, cold metal object taped securely to the back panel.

I unpeeled the heavy-duty packing tape and pulled it free.

It was a small, high-capacity USB thumb drive, matte black and unmarked.