I showed Marcus the message.

His answer was immediate.

“No.”

“He'll kill Grant.”

“He'll kill you too.”

“What about Dana?”

Marcus hesitated.

My heart sank.

“What?”

“We lost communication with her boarding team twelve minutes ago.”

Miles whispered.

“Mom.”

I looked at him.

He was terrified.

But there was something else in his expression.

Determination.

“Dad told us Vale wants us scared.”

“Yes.”

“He also said Vale thinks like a shipping man.”

I nodded slowly.

Miles looked at the photograph again.

“Then why is there no water behind them?”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“The boat.”

He pointed.

“If they're on the boat, shouldn't something be moving?”

I enlarged the image.

Grant and Owen sat against a corrugated steel wall.

Behind Vale was a yellow safety sign.

I recognized it.

Not because I understood ships.

Because I had seen that sign before.

Warehouse Twelve.

The photograph wasn't taken aboard the Bellweather.

Vale had fooled us again.

Marcus compared the background to tactical footage from the warehouse.

Same wall.

Same sign.

Same broken light fixture.

“Image metadata?”

I asked.

A technician shook his head.

“Stripped.”

“But the location matches.”

Marcus immediately called Dana's remaining teams.

Agents returned to Warehouse Twelve.

Empty again.

But this time they found blood.

And tire tracks.

A nearby traffic camera showed a white utility van leaving sixteen minutes earlier.

The van headed toward Newport.

Toward the harbor.

Vale wasn't on the Bellweather yet.

He was trying to reach it.

That meant we still had time.

Then the shielded evidence case began beeping.

Marcus frowned.

“What is that?”

A technician opened a diagnostic screen.

His expression changed.

“The drive isn't just being tracked.”

“What?”

“It is transmitting.”

My stomach dropped.

“Transmitting what?”

The technician looked at me.

“Files.”

Grant had built a dead-man system.

The moment the drive entered a shielded environment, it triggered an automatic release.

Copies of Vale's records were being sent to multiple federal servers, journalists, international financial regulators, and private attorneys.

Marcus began to smile.

“Grant never intended the drive to stay hidden forever.”

I understood.

He wanted Vale to chase it.

The evidence had been bait.

Conrad Vale had spent three years hunting the one object that could destroy him.

Now touching it had guaranteed his destruction.

My phone rang again.

This time it was Dana.

Her voice was breathless.

“We have Grant.”

My knees almost gave out.

“Alive?”

“Yes.”

“Owen?”

“Alive.”

“Vale?”

A pause.

“Still moving.”

The relief vanished.

“Where?”

“We think he transferred from the van to a harbor launch.”

Marcus looked at the maritime map.

I remembered something.

“Grant said the Bellweather was seven miles south of Block Island.”

Dana answered.

“It was.”

“Was?”

“The Coast Guard has it.”

I understood.

Vale had never intended to use the Bellweather.

It was another distraction.

“Then where is he going?”

Nobody answered.

Miles suddenly looked at me.

“Block Island.”

I stared at him.

He continued.

“That's where Dad disappeared.”

Dana was silent for a second.

Then she said.

“There's an abandoned Vale Maritime station on the north side of the island.”

Grant's voice sounded in the background.

“That's where he's going.”