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We find the same approval on each application. Connor has added dates, questions about false vendor addresses, and reminders to compare the invoices with Dragorin’s real accounts. I recognize his habit of drawing a box around any figure he wants to check again. When he was little, he did it around answers in his math homework so Dad could find the ones he was proud of.

One company record lists a payment to D. Morozov. I find the same name in a photograph of Connor’s planner on my phone and hold it beside the screen.

“He wrote this down before he disappeared,” I tell Andrei.

“I remember.” He photographs the record for Reid. “We have a payment now, along with the name.”

One final folder is marked for me. I open it and find an audio file. My fingers hover above the laptop until Andrei asks if I want everyone to stay. I look at Birdie and Harris, then at him.

“Connor knew I wouldn’t listen to it alone,” I say.

A click comes through the speakers, followed by a breath I recognize. Connor always draws air in through his nose before telling me news he thinks I won’t like.

“Cass,” he says, and I press my hand over my mouth.

Birdie takes my other hand. Connor’s voice continues, close enough that I almost expect to find him on the stairs.

“If you found the drive, I haven’t managed to get this to you myself. I need you to give the files to someone outside the bank. Don’t take what people there show you at face value. Check who entered each change and when.”

He pauses. I hear a chair move on the recording.

“The loans aren’t the whole reason Dragorin Vineyards is being targeted,” he says. “Someone is using them to damage the company, but the money doesn’t explain why they chose it. I think I know who it is, but there’s one connection I still need to verify before I give you a name.”

The recording ends. I press play again, listening for another word after name, but the file stops in the same place. Connor was alive when he made it. He was thinking about me, Grandma’s book, and the questions he still needed to answer. None of that tells me where he is.

Andrei reaches across the table and closes the laptop partway, leaving the files open. His face is pale beneath the warm shop lights.

“Who do you think he’s talking about?” I ask Andrei.

He looks at the screen, then meets my eyes. “I don’t know yet.”

I remember the date someone sent him from twelve years ago and the part of his life he won’t explain to me. I want to ask again, but Connor’s voice is still in my ears, warning me to check what I’m told.

Behind us, Murphy jumps onto the table and sits beside Grandma’s opened book. I move the torn cloth out of his reach and run my finger along her name. Connor left me the evidence he could gather. Now I have to find out where he went after he hid it.

16

CASSIE

Andrei stands beside me at the rear table. He has ended his call with Reid, who is comparing the first loan number with the records Linda gave me. Birdie waits on my other side, holding Grandma’s book open so the damaged spine faces up. Murphy has claimed the empty carton beneath the table.

“I need to check all of this against what Linda found,” I say. “She can help me understand which files Connor had access to and when the others were changed.”

“Reid can help with the loans,” Andrei replies. “Linda can speak with us from the bank.”

“She might find more if I’m there.” I look at Connor’s note on the screen, then shut the folder. “I’m going to pack and stay at his apartment. I can get to the bank quickly, and Linda won’t have to explain everything over the phone.”

Birdie closes Grandma’s book. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“You have work here.”

“I can take work with me.” She folds her arms and looks at Andrei before returning her attention to me. “I’m not letting you spend your nights alone in Connor’s apartment while somebody is stalking you.”

“I’m going to Seattle, and you can’t talk me out of it.”

Birdie steps closer, her arms still folded. “I’m not trying to talk you out of Seattle. I’m telling you to make room for me in the car.”

Andrei moves a chair away from the table and sits across from me. The overhead lamp catches the scar on his left hand as he rests it beside the laptop.