Maddox nods. “The note references a payment. I traced it through a crypto wallet tied to his cousin's boyfriend's LLC, then through three more shells before it landed at a Hammond Industries subsidiary.” He pauses. “It's almost too clean. Your father's a bastard, but he's not sloppy. This feels like someone wants us to find the connection.”
Doesn't matter right now who's pulling the strings. What matters is that Dylan is compromised.
“Don't fire him,” I say.
Maddox raises an eyebrow.
“He doesn't know we know. I want to feed him wrong information. See where it goes. If my father’s behind this, I want proof I can use. If someone else is playing us both, I want to know who.”
A ghost of approval crosses Maddox's face. “That's cold.”
“That's survival.”
“There's more,” Maddox says. “Ethan and I tracked the club from the school.”
“And?”
“Tide Serpents.” He pulls up surveillance footage. Grainy images of motorcycles, faces half-hidden by helmets. “Low-level thugs. Hired muscle. No code, no loyalty, just whoever pays the most. They've been pushing into Iron Wolves territory for years. Starting shit they can't finish.”
“So someone hired them to hit my project.”
“Someone hired them to hityou. Ravenwood wasn't random. It was one of your flagship initiatives. The optics, the PR damage, the message it sends...” Maddox shakes his head. “This was personal.”
Dylan. The Serpents. My father's fingerprints on everything.
Then another thought surfaces. Colder than the rest.
“Dylan has access to my calendar,” I say slowly. “My contacts. My personal correspondence.”
Maddox meets my eyes. He's already there.
“What has he passed along about my personal life?”
“I'm still piecing it together.” Maddox pulls up another file. “From what I can tell, he's been reporting to someone in the Hammond family. Regular updates. Your movements, your meetings...” He hesitates. “Your relationships.”
Emma.Her name. Her address. Her workplace.
“How much does he know about her?”
“Enough.” Maddox's voice is flat. “Name, employer, the fact that you've been seeing her regularly. I don't know yet if he's passed her home address, but I'd assume the worst.”
The cold in the room feels like it's inside my chest.
“I need to talk to the Wolves,” I say.
Maddox looks up sharply. “You sure that's wise?”
“The Serpents are their problem too. If I'm going to handle this, I need to know where Rex and his club stand. Whether moving on the Serpents will cause complications.”
“And if it does?”
“Then we find another way. I'm not letting this go unanswered.”
Maddox studies me. “I'll keep digging. Find out who's really holding the Serpents' leash.”
The driveto Harbor Garage takes forty minutes through afternoon traffic. George drops me at the entrance, a sprawling complex of brick and steel that looks like any other auto shop from the outside. The Iron Wolves logo is subtle, painted on a single sign above the main bay. You'd miss it if you didn't know what to look for.
Motor oil and burnt rubber hit me as I step inside. Engines rumble in the service bays. Men in overalls and grease-stained shirts move between motorcycles with the easy confidence of people who own their space. No cuts, no colors. This is their legitimate business, and they run it like one.
