Nathaniel Crosswell disliked missing data more than bad news.
Bad news could be addressed. It announced itself. Absence required patience, and patience was rarely neutral.
Lucas Reed stood at the edge of the conference table, tablet resting in his palm, posture composed. The office windows behind Nathaniel framed the harbor in clean lines, ships moving with regulated certainty. Systems worked when inputs were complete.
“This is everything,” Lucas said.
Nathaniel did not look up. “Then explain why it says nothing.”
Lucas inhaled slowly. “Lillian Bloom was adopted at four. Records list a private agency that no longer exists. No irregularities flagged at the time. No public footprint beyond Florentis Quarter. No education records that suggest elite grooming. No donors. No patrons.”
“No debt,” Nathaniel said.
“No debt,” Lucas confirmed.
Nathaniel lifted his eyes. “At her age, with her access, that is improbable.”
“Not impossible,” Lucas replied. “But improbable.”
Nathaniel took the tablet