Lyra stared at her phone, Malachi's oily voice still ringing in her ears. "Ten million. Not a penny less."
"Five is more than generous for information you claim to have," she countered, her voice steady despite the throbbing pain in her cheek. "I'm not even sure what you're selling is worth anything."
A harsh laugh crackled through the speaker. "Oh, it's worth it. The truth about you and the Moreau family? Trust me, you'll want to hear this."
Lyra's mind raced. What could he possibly know? Was it connected to the strange exchange between Eleanor and James Gallagher?
"Seven million," she offered. "And that's final."
The line went quiet. She could almost picture Malachi's greedy calculations—weighing his desperation against his greed.
"Fine," he finally spat. "Seven million. But I want it tomorrow."
"I'll need proof first."
"You'll get your proof when I see you in person." His voice lowered. "I'm sending you an address. Come alone. If I see anyone else, the deal's off."
