LOGINCHAPTER 35: THE LINEI don't sleep.I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop and I trace every transaction Leon has made through the 13th seat. Every money movement. Every shell company. Every person who's disappeared from public record after crossing him.Vincent does the same. Naomi makes coffee at 4 AM like it's the most natural thing in the world.Clara sits across from me and watches me work like she's remembering all the things she missed. All the moments she wasn't supposed to be there for."You're going to do this," she says. Not a question."Yes.""He's going to try to manipulate you. He's very good at it.""I know.""He might refuse.""Then I burn him."Clara nods, and there's something in that nod that feels like approval. Like she's been waiting eleven years for me to become this version of myself.At 6 AM, I call Leon."It's early," he says when he picks up. There's no surprise in his voice. He was expecting this."We need to meet," I tell him."Absolutely. I've been wor
CHAPTER 34: THE LEDGERClara walks in at midnight.Nobody invited her. Vincent doesn't stop her. Naomi just nods like she was expecting this.I'm the only one surprised."You need to stop," Clara says. No greeting. No explanation for how she found us. "You're not ready for what you're about to uncover.""I'm tired of people telling me what I'm ready for," I say.Clara sets a folder on the table. Old documents. Photographs. Names I don't recognize."Your father created the 13th seat," she says. "Not to hide money. To hide people."I pull the folder toward me. Inside are documents from thirty years ago. Whitfield family records. Financial transfers. And beneath them, names of people who disappeared from public records."What do you mean, hide people?" I ask."Your grandfather was involved in things that couldn't be traced. Money laundering, mostly. Corporate espionage. He needed a way to move funds without creating a paper trail. So he created the 13th seat. A phantom position. A blank
CHAPTER 33: THE PRESSUREThe police arrive at 6 PM.I'm not expecting them. Vincent and I are going through Marcus Crane's confession again, searching for details that might connect Leon directly to the Finance Director's death. Naomi is on her laptop, trying to trace the money flows.Two detectives. One woman, one man. The woman shows her badge."We're looking for Mr. Vincent Sterling. Is he here?"Vincent stands. Doesn't look surprised, which means he was expecting this."I'm here voluntarily," he says. "And I'd like to speak with a lawyer."The female detective nods. "We have some questions about the night the Finance Director died."They take him into the other room. Naomi and I sit in silence, listening to the murmur of voices we can't quite make out."Someone told them where you are," Naomi says quietly."I know.""Someone with access to Vincent's operation."I nod. Because that's the only way the police could have found this apartment. Vincent's safe houses are supposed to be u
CHAPTER 32: THE FALL GUYVincent and I have been arguing for two hours."We use it as leverage," he says. "We demand answers before going public.""That makes us criminals," I counter. "That makes us them."Naomi is sitting on the couch, coffee in hand, watching us like she's waiting for one of us to say something that actually makes sense."You're already criminals," Vincent points out. "You broke into Whitfield. You stole records. Going to the police doesn't absolve you."He's right. I hate that he's right."If we go public with this, it destroys everything," I say. "Whitfield collapses. The company becomes worthless. Everyone connected to it gets dragged down.""Including Leon," Vincent says."Including Julian."Silence. Because we both know that's the real problem. Exposing the Finance Director's murder means exposing Julian's involvement, whatever that involvement is.Naomi sets down her coffee."You're not thinking about this correctly," she says.Both of us turn to her."You're
It's 3 AM. I'm staring at initials on a dead man's ledger, and my brain keeps trying to tell me something I don't want to hear. Vincent is methodical about this. I'm searching like someone drowning."L.W.," Vincent says, pointing at the ledger. "Appears on seventy percent of suspicious transactions."I lean closer. The handwriting in the Finance Director's ledger is meticulous. Every entry dated. Every amount listed. Every initial carefully marked in the margin like a signature on a crime.L.W. L.W. L.W.My stomach turns."L.W. could be anyone," I say. But I'm already searching the board roster on my laptop. My hands know what my mind doesn't want to admit."There's a pattern," Vincent says. He's laid out the pages chronologically now. "Look at this. L.W. dominates for years. Then, about eight years ago, the initials change. L.S. takes over. But they appear together. Never independently."I pull up the Whitfield subsidiary records. My vision keeps blurring."One person," I whisper. "U
Vincent spreads a blueprint across the table like he's ordering dinner."Side entrance. Loading dock level. Cameras on a twelve-minute loop—I arranged that. You have seven minutes inside the Finance office. In and out. No variations."Amara stares at the blueprint. At the highlighted route. At the small red X marking the Finance Director's office."How many times have you done this?""Not at Whitfield."It's not reassurance. Just fact."What if—""We won't get caught." Vincent's eyes don't leave the blueprint. "Amara, panic is what gets people caught. You panic, we both go down. So the question isn't 'what if.' The question is: are you ready?"She's not. But she nods anyway.Scene 1: 11:47 PMThe loading dock is empty. Fluorescent lights humming. The smell of concrete and cleaning supplies.Vincent moves like he belongs here, like he's walked this route a hundred times. His hand finds the security panel before Amara's even registered where it is. He bypasses it in four seconds. A smal







