The National Gallery of Art was crowded at noon.
Victoria stood in the East Building, her eyes scanning the atrium. Tourists with cameras. School groups in matching t-shirts. A security guard yawning by the information desk. No one who looked like Catherine Webb.
She walked to the bench near the Calder mobile. The red and black shapes hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly in the air currents. She sat down, her hands folded in her lap, the burner phone in her jacket pocket.
Nathaniel was outside, in a coffee shop across the street, watching the entrance through the window. Olivia was back at the farmhouse, monitoring the satellite feeds Vinson had set up. Vinson was somewhere nearby, invisible, the way he always was.
Victoria waited.
Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
A woman sat down beside her.
She was older than Victoria expected—late fifties, silver hair cut short, wearing a gray pantsuit that cost more than most people's rent. Her face was lined, but her eyes were sharp. She carried a leather tote bag and a copy of the Washington Post.
"Don't look at me," the woman said. "Keep your eyes on the mobile."
Victoria obeyed. "Catherine Webb?"
"The same. You're younger than I expected."
"So are you."
Catherine smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Flattery won't work on me. I've been married to a liar. I can spot one from a mile away."
"I'm not lying."
"Then show me what you have."
Victoria pulled a small flash drive from her pocket—one of the copies Olivia had made—and held it in her palm. Catherine didn't take it immediately.
"How do I know this isn't a trap?" Catherine asked.
"How do I know you're not working for Marcus?"
"I left Marcus ten years ago. He took everything—the house, the money, the friends. I had to start over from nothing. I built a career investigating men like him. I've sent three of his associates to prison."
"Then why is Marcus still free?"
Catherine's jaw tightened. "Because he's smarter than them. And richer. And more ruthless." She took the flash drive. "But everyone makes mistakes. Marcus's mistake was Richard Chan."
"You knew Richard?"
"I knew of him. He was Marcus's accountant. When he died, I started digging. I found traces of the money—shell companies, offshore accounts, bribes to senators. But I couldn't prove anything."
"Now you can."
Catherine looked at the flash drive in her palm. "If this is real, I can take Marcus down. Not just send him to prison. Destroy him. Everything he's built. Everyone who's ever helped him."
"That's what we want."
"We?"
Victoria hesitated. "Nathaniel Cross. Olivia Park. Cole Vinson."
Catherine's eyes widened. "Vinson? You're working with Vinson?"
"He's working with us."
"Vinson killed Richard Chan. He admitted it."
"He also wants to bring Marcus down. For Nora."
Catherine was quiet for a long moment. The mobile swayed above them.
"Nora was my goddaughter," Catherine said finally. "Marcus's niece. I loved her like my own daughter. When she died, I knew Marcus was responsible. But I couldn't prove it."
"Now you can."
Catherine slipped the flash drive into her tote bag. She stood up.
"I'll review the files. If they're legitimate, I'll call you."
"How will you reach me?"
"I already have your number." Catherine walked away without looking back.
Victoria sat on the bench for another five minutes, her eyes on the mobile. Then she stood up and walked out of the museum.
---
Nathaniel was waiting for her in the coffee shop.
He stood when she walked in, his eyes scanning her face for signs of trouble.
"Well?"
"She took the drive. She'll call if it's legit."
"And if it's not?"
"Then we're back to square one."
Nathaniel sat down. Victoria sat across from him. A barista came by; Victoria ordered black coffee, no sugar. Nathaniel ordered the same.
"You're calm," he said.
"I'm not calm. I'm exhausted. There's a difference."
"You've been saying that a lot."
"Because it keeps being true."
The coffee came. Victoria wrapped her hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.
"Nathaniel," she said.
"Yes?"
"When this is over—if we survive—what do you want?"
He looked at her. His eyes were tired, but there was something else there. Something soft.
"I want to stop running," he said. "I want to wake up in the same place two days in a row. I want to cook dinner in a kitchen that isn't someone else's. I want to sleep through the night without dreaming about Richard's face."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know." He reached across the table and took her hand. "I want you. If you'll have me."
Victoria looked down at their hands. His fingers were warm around hers.
"I don't know if I can," she said. "The things you did. The things I've done. We're not the same people we were ten years ago."
"No. We're not."
"But maybe that's a good thing."
Nathaniel squeezed her hand. "Maybe it is."
---
They stayed in the coffee shop for another hour, watching the street.
Victoria's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
"Files are legit. Meet me tonight. 8 PM. The Willard Hotel. Room 412. Come alone."
She showed Nathaniel the message.
"You're not going alone," he said.
"She asked me to come alone."
"Then she's not getting what she wants."
Victoria typed back: "I'm bringing someone."
A long pause. Then: "Fine. But only one."
"She agreed," Victoria said.
"You're bringing me."
"I'm bringing Olivia. She knows the files better than anyone."
Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "I don't like it."
"You don't have to like it. You just have to trust me."
He nodded slowly. "I trust you."
---
They drove back to the farmhouse.
Olivia was at her desk, her eyes red from staring at the screen. Vinson stood by the whiteboard, updating the names.
"Catherine wants to meet," Victoria said. "Tonight. The Willard. Room 412. She wants me to bring one person."
"I'm coming," Olivia said.
"I was hoping you would."
Vinson turned from the whiteboard. "I'll drive you. I'll wait outside."
"If she sees you, she'll run."
"She won't see me."
Victoria looked at Nathaniel. He was standing by the window, his back to her.
"Nathaniel."
He turned.
"Stay here. Keep an eye on Vinson."
"You trust him?"
"I trust him to want Marcus in prison. That's enough for now."
Nathaniel nodded. He walked to Victoria and stood close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body.
"Be careful," he said.
"I'm always careful."
"You're not. That's why I'm worried."
Victoria almost smiled. She reached up and touched his face—just once, light as a whisper.
Then she turned and walked out the door.
---
The Willard Hotel was old money and quiet luxury.
Victoria had never been inside before. The lobby was marble and crystal chandeliers, the kind of place where diplomats negotiated treaties and billionaires hid their affairs.
She walked to the elevator, Olivia beside her. They rode to the fourth floor in silence.
Room 412 was at the end of the hall. Victoria knocked.
Catherine opened the door. She was wearing the same gray pantsuit, but her hair was slightly disheveled, as if she'd been running her hands through it.
"Come in. Quickly."
Victoria and Olivia stepped inside. The room was a suite—living room, bedroom, a view of the White House in the distance. Papers covered the coffee table. A laptop glowed on the desk.
"I've reviewed the files," Catherine said. "They're more comprehensive than I hoped. You have everything—transactions, emails, recordings. Enough to put Marcus away for life."
"Then why do you look scared?" Victoria asked.
Catherine sat down on the couch. She picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Victoria.
"Because I found something you missed."
Victoria read the paper. A list of names. Most she recognized—Webb, Hollis, Kincaid. But at the bottom, a name she'd never seen before.
"Nathaniel Cross."
"What is this?" Victoria asked.
"A second list. Hidden in a file Richard encrypted separately. It shows payments to Nathaniel Cross. Hundreds of thousands of dollars. Dating back five years."
"That's not possible."
"It's right there. In Richard's own handwriting." Catherine pointed to the paper. "Nathaniel was taking money from Webb. He wasn't a victim. He was a partner."