Dovie watched her father Merrick drown a torn page from her sketchbook in a fountain and viciously forbid her from ever drawing what she saw again.

A suffocating realization descended upon the glass dome.

Arthur stared at his older brother, his eyes wide with a horrific comprehension. "You... you knew."

"I’ve known since June," Torsten said, his voice flat as a tombstone. "I let you build the bridge to Chicago because I wanted to see how many of my own people would cross it with you."

He turned his gaze toward the sixty guests huddled along the walls—the cousins, the captains, the associates who had stood by and watched Julian play his hand.

"Every single one of you who took a private meeting with Julian over the last six months," Torsten announced, his voice carrying effortlessly into every corner of the conservatory. "Your names are on the manifest Cassian delivered to the United States Attorney’s office forty-five minutes ago."

A frantic gasp exploded through the crowd.

Senator Albright stepped forward, his face purple with outrage and panic. "Torsten! You didn't! You wouldn't burn the entire network!"

"I didn't burn the network, Senator," Torsten said without looking at him. "I burned the traitors. By midnight, federal warrants will be executed across three counties. Merrick will be in an ambulance, but when he wakes up, there will be two federal marshals handcuffed to his bed. He’ll sign whatever confession they put in front of him to save himself from twenty years in a federal penitentiary."

Torsten looked down at Julian, who was sobbing into the floor, clutching his bleeding knee.

"And Julian," Torsten continued, "will be on the evening news as the mastermind who attempted to embezzle forty million dollars from his own family before his operation collapsed."

"And me?" Arthur whispered, his voice trembling so violently his spectacles slid down his nose. "What about me, Torsten? I'm your brother."

Torsten walked over to Arthur.

He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't raise his hand. He simply reached out and plucked the crystal bourbon glass from the pedestal, turning it slowly in the afternoon light.

"You have twenty minutes, Arthur," Torsten said softly. "The hangar at the municipal airfield. Leo Moretti is waiting for the signed shares."

Arthur blinked, confused. "You're... you're letting me leave?"

"I'm giving you a head start," Torsten replied, his eyes cold as Arctic ice. "Take Julian’s car. Drive to the airfield. Tell Leo Moretti that the deal is dead, that the feds have the manifests, and that Torsten Whitmere knows he’s in the state."