“I want you to trust me.”
Trust. The one currency neither of us has offered. I lean closer. Close enough that she feels my breath.
“If I trust you,” I say, “you tell me what’s inside the diamonds.”
Her eyes flicker just once. And I know I’ve hit the seam. She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t look away either. And that tells me everything.
“It isn’t jewelry,” she says at last.
I don’t move. “Go on.”
“The diamonds are real,” she continues evenly. “But they aren’t the point.”
I study her face. She’s not improvising.
“What is?” I ask.
“The certification infrastructure. The transport chain. The private exchanges.”
That tracks. High-value goods move quietly.
“And?”
She holds my gaze.
“And something moves with them.”
The cabin feels smaller.
“Illegal?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Arms?”
“No.”
That answer comes too fast.
“Technology,” she says instead.
The word lands heavier than weapons would.
“What kind?”
“The kind that isn’t supposed to cross borders without clearance.”
I think of the gala. Of buyers with diplomatic immunity and shell companies. The forced elevator recall.
“If you don’t return?” I ask.
“It clears,” she says.
That word again — clears.
“They assume the shipment is uncontested. The handoff proceeds.”
“And if you do return?”
