My daughter was five, and I had spent eight months teaching her to call Evan by his name.

The sound of boots pounding down the forty-second-floor corridor sounded like rolling thunder.

"Federal agents! Drop your weapons and get on the ground!" a booming voice roared through the open doorway.

The two private security guards Evan had posted in the hall didn't even attempt to raise their weapons. They dropped to their knees with their hands laced behind their heads.

Special Agent Sarah Vance—Julian’s second cousin and a lead investigator with the FBI’s Financial Crimes Division, whom Marcus had secretly contacted three hours ago using Julian’s encrypted channel—burst into the lab with a tactical team of twelve heavily armed agents.

"Evan Vance, step away from the desk!" Agent Vance shouted, her rifle leveled directly between Evan’s eyes. "Step away from the desk or we will eliminate you!"

Evan looked at the rifle, then at the computer screens displaying the unassailable video evidence of his crime, and finally down at his broken arm.

The arrogant, polished sociopath completely crumbled.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the carpet beside Julian’s desk, sobbing hysterically like a broken animal. "It was Peter! Peter did it! He planned the whole thing! I was just helping him manage the assets!"

Two tactical agents tackled Evan to the floor, driving his face into the carpet and wrenching his broken arm behind his back. Evan screamed in agony as the heavy steel handcuffs clicked into place around his wrists.

"Mommy!" Sophie wailed, running into my legs.

I dropped to the floor, wrapping my arms around my daughter, burying my face in her hair as tears of pure, overwhelming relief finally burst through my chest. "It's over, baby. It's over. You're safe. Mommy's got you."

Paramedics swarmed into the room, rushing to Peter’s side. Peter was unconscious, his skin gray, a plastic oxygen mask already strapped to his face as they pumped blood from his chest. He was alive, barely, but his life as a free man was permanently extinguished.

Marcus walked through the doorway, supported by an agent, his face bruised and his suit torn, but wearing the widest, most victorious grin I had ever seen.

He looked at the monitors, then down at me holding Sophie.