Alex’s POV
The FBI conference room felt smaller with every passing minute.
The walls seemed to close in on us—stale air, fluorescent lights, and the low hum of computers humming like insects. Martinez had maps spread across the table, red pins marking the last known locations of the four escaped family heads. Walsh paced behind him, phone pressed to her ear, her jaw tight with frustration and exhaustion. The clock on the wall ticked too loud, a reminder that every second that passed, those people got further away.
“How does this happen?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I meant. “How do four billionaires just vanish off the grid in less than twenty-four hours?”
“Money,” Martinez said simply, not even looking up. “Money and power. Private jets filed under fake shell companies. False fl
