“Two hours ago, before Detective Miller walked into my room,” I continued, “I executed my contractual right as the majority managing member of the holding entity. I didn’t just withdraw the lease guarantee for my parents. I froze every operational line of credit tied to your firm’s operating capital. I filed an emergency motion of corporate conversion based on grand larceny and breach of fiduciary duty. The state banking authorities flagged your business accounts thirty minutes ago. You aren’t driving to the bank, Julian. You’re driving a car with a disabled corporate lease card and empty accounts.”

The silence that followed was absolute. The calm, arrogant composure that had defined Julian Vance for a decade evaporated in a single, ragged intake of air.

“You think you’re clever,” he whispered, the mask completely gone now, replaced by a raw, venomous rage. “You think a legal filing stops anything?”

“It doesn’t have to,” I said. “Look in your rear-view mirror.”

Through the phone speaker, I heard the faint, rising wail of multiple sirens cutting through the highway air behind his car, growing louder and closer by the second.

I ended the call, set the phone back on the tray table, and lay back against the hospital pillows as the room fell completely quiet.