The room overlooked the city. Thousands of windows glittered below them, indifferent to the danger unfolding inside one building.
Charles poured himself water.
His hand shook.
Beatrice watched him.
"Tell me everything."
"I can’t."
"Why?"
"Because if I tell you, you become part of it."
"I already am."
Charles looked at Dante.
"You shouldn't have brought him."
Dante leaned against the desk.
"That sounds like fear."
"It is."
Beatrice's stomach tightened.
Charles lowered his voice.
"Six months ago, someone began moving money through accounts connected to the company. Small amounts. Nothing obvious. Then larger transfers. The transactions were designed to look like internal bonuses, consulting fees, and vendor payments."
"And you covered it up?"
"I investigated it."
"You told me the irregularities were accounting errors."
"Because I thought they were."
Dante's expression remained unreadable.
"Who had access?"
"Three people."
Charles hesitated.
"Myself. The chief financial officer. And Beatrice."
She stared at him.
"Me?"
"Your credentials were used."
"That's impossible."
"I know."
Dante looked at her.
"Do you still have your security token?"
"It's in my desk."
"Then someone cloned it."
Charles shook his head.
"Not cloned. Copied."
Beatrice frowned.
"What is the difference?"
"Your token has a secondary authorization code. Someone knew it."
A cold feeling moved through her.
Only four people knew that code.
Beatrice.
Charles.
Her assistant.
And Maggie.
She immediately rejected the thought.
"No."
Dante noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Beatrice."
"My sister knows the code."
Charles stared.
"Why would Maggie know?"
"Because I asked her to memorize it when I was sick last year. I was afraid I'd forget."
Dante's gaze sharpened.
"You trusted her."
"Yes."
"That doesn't make her guilty."
"I know."
Charles rubbed his face.
"There is more."
Of course there was.
"There is always more," Beatrice whispered.
Charles walked to a cabinet and unlocked a hidden compartment.
He removed a black folder.
Inside were printed photographs.
Dante took the first one.
It showed Charles entering a private restaurant.
The second showed him meeting a man Beatrice recognized.
"Victor Hale."
Charles closed his eyes.
"Who is he?"
"The former chairman of the company."
Beatrice stared.
"He's dead."
"Officially."
The room became silent.
Dante examined the photograph.
"Where was this taken?"
"Two months ago."
"Why meet a dead man?"
Charles's voice broke.
"Because I needed answers."
"About the money?"
"About the person controlling it."
Beatrice felt dizzy.
"Who?"
Charles looked at her.
"I don’t know his real name."
"Then what do you know?"
"Only the name they use."
Charles opened another file.
A single word was printed on the first page.
MORROW.
Dante's jaw tightened.
"You know that name."
"Yes."
"Who is Morrow?"
"Someone who doesn't exist."
Beatrice frowned.
"That makes no sense."
"It does if Morrow is a network."
Charles explained that Morrow had operated through shell companies, private security firms, investment funds, and political intermediaries. Nobody met the same person twice. Every operation was divided into pieces so that no one participant understood the entire structure.
"And you got involved?"
"I tried to stop it."
"Why didn’t you tell the board?"
"Because three board members were already compromised."
Beatrice looked toward the window.
The city suddenly seemed less like a place full of people and more like a maze full of watchers.
Dante opened his phone.
"Luca."
A pause.
"Get me everything on Morrow. Financial records, shell companies, associates. Start with Victor Hale."
He ended the call.
Charles stared at him.
"You think you can fight this?"
"No."
Dante looked at Beatrice.
"I think we can expose it."
That distinction mattered.
Beatrice turned to Charles.
"Why me?"
Charles didn’t answer.
"Why are they targeting me?"
"Because you're the cleanest person in the chain."
She laughed bitterly.
"That's almost insulting."
"It's worse than that."
Charles opened the final file.
Inside was a photograph of Beatrice.
Not at work.
Not at the event.
At home.
She was standing on her balcony, holding a cup of tea.
The photograph had been taken from across the street.
Date stamped three weeks earlier.
Her blood ran cold.
Dante took the photograph.
"When?"
"Three weeks ago."
Beatrice whispered, "I've been watched for three weeks."
Dante's face became still.
"Yes."
"Why didn’t anyone tell me?"
"Because they wanted to see what you would do."
"What did I do?"
"You noticed the money."
She looked at him.
"I only noticed because the numbers were wrong."
"Exactly."
Charles sat down.
"The person behind Morrow believes people like you are dangerous."
"People like me?"
"People who notice."
Dante stepped toward the door.
"We're leaving."
Charles stood.
"Where?"
"Somewhere secure."
Beatrice looked at him.
"And you?"
"I’m staying."
Dante shook his head.
"No."
Charles frowned.
"If I leave, they'll know something changed."
Dante stared at him.
"They already know."
The lights flickered.
A sharp crack came from the window.
Glass exploded inward.
Dante pulled Beatrice down.
Charles fell behind the desk.
A bullet struck the wall.
Silence.
Then another shot.
Dante crawled toward the window.
Beatrice grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't."
He looked at her.
"I wasn't going outside."
He pointed at the opposite building.
A tiny red light blinked on its roof.
"Someone is signaling."
"To whom?"
Dante's phone rang.
He answered.
A distorted voice said one sentence.
"Ask Beatrice what she found in the ledger."
The call ended.
Beatrice went still.
Because she knew exactly what ledger they meant.
And she had never told anyone about it.
======================================================================
PART 3
======================================================================
PART THREE — THE LEDGER
The ledger was hidden beneath a loose floorboard in Beatrice's apartment.
She had discovered it accidentally three months earlier.
At first she assumed it was an old accounting book.
Then she noticed the names.
Judges.
Executives.
Police officials.
Politicians.
And payments.
Hundreds of them.
She had photographed several pages before hiding the ledger again.
She had never told Charles.
She had never told Maggie.
At least, she thought she hadn't.
Dante drove through the city without turning on the radio.