MARK

The air in the server room seemed to vanish. My lungs heaved, trying to pull in oxygen that wasn't there. A sound escaped my throat—a low, wounded whimper that I couldn't stop.

It was gone.

All of it. The deeds to the Tokyo warehouses. The gold reserves in London. The Swiss cash accounts. the billions, accumulated over a lifetime by Robert Vance, wiped clean.

"No," I whispered, my voice sounding thin and pathetic in the humming room. "No, no, no."

I slammed my fist onto the desk. "NO!"

I typed frantically on the keyboard, my fingers slipping over the keys. I checked the transaction logs. I checked the routing...