“What about it?” he asked, his voice tight.

“Mom’s backups,” I stammered, grabbing his sleeve. “She kept a fireproof lockbox in the bottom drawer. She told me that if anything ever happened to the main servers, she had a physical ledger in that box. Hard copies of everything. Bank statements, tax discrepancies. Do you think the police found it?”

I watched his face carefully. The transformation was instantaneous. The blood drained completely from his cheeks. His eyes widened in absolute terror as he stared at the rusted metal cabinet.

“I… I’m sure it’s nothing, sweetheart. The fire was intense. Nothing survived that,” he choked out, forcing a smile. “Let’s get you home. It’s not safe here.”

“You’re right,” I conceded meekly, letting him lead me away.

I spent the rest of the evening in the sterile guest bedroom of his luxury apartment, waiting. At 2:00 a.m., my burner phone buzzed. A text from Detective Ortiz.