I did not sleep for thirty-eight hours.
Instead, I held Grace—mine or not mine, the question eating at me—while Albert and Knox tore apart every lead on X's identity.
"Nothing," Knox threw his tablet across the room in frustration. "Every shell company leads to another shell company. Every bank account traces to offshore havens. Every person who might know something either disappeared or turned up dead. It is like X does not exist."
"He exists," Victoria said, surrounded by laptops and files. "I found three people who worked with him—past tense, because they are all dead now. Car accidents, suicides, one mysterious heart attack. All within the last six weeks. X is cleaning house, eliminating anyone who could identify him."
Albert paced despite his injuries, his destroyed hands wrapped
