Daniel's team traced the photograph within thirty-six hours, working the problem with the same methodical patience Wren had watched him bring to everything else since the night he'd first been introduced to her in the front hall as though she were nothing more than a name on a schedule. The message had bounced through two anonymizing services before landing, but the studio break-in itself had been caught, imperfectly, by a security camera belonging to the bakery next door — grainy footage, a single figure in a dark coat, a face turned carefully away from the lens the entire time, but a build and a gait that Daniel, cross-referencing against old case files from his years as a federal investigator, matched within a day to a man named Peter Cole.
"Harmon Cole's grandson," Daniel told them, l
