“You’ve got a whole net down there,” Carmen said. “Hank, Colby, Brian, the mayor, and Diaz. Me. You’re not jumping alone.”
“I know,” Bree said. “It’s just… a lot of new all at once.”
“That’s kind of your thing, though,” Carmen said. “Big moves. Big feelings.”
“Please don’t tell my therapist that,” Bree said. “She’ll get ideas.”
They both laughed.
A shadow fell over the table. Bree looked up; Colby stood there, tablet tucked under one arm, hair pushed back like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt. Hank said you were here; he’s on his way. I had something I wanted to float past both of you.”
“You want coffee first?” Carmen asked. “I’m buying; I heard you’re about to be a homeowner.”
He shook his head. “I’m operating on espresso fumes already,” he said. He glanced at Bree. “You got a minute for nerd talk?”
“Always,” she said. “Pull up a chair.”
He dragged over a spare and sat, setting the tablet on the table. The screen showed a spreadsheet; lots of numbers, dotted with red and yellow highlights.
“So Diaz showed me how to access some of the public technical bulletins the series circulates to teams and sanctioning bodies,” he said. “Stuff about suspected counterfeit parts, flagged vendors, that kind of thing. I cross-referenced those with purchase records for Einstein’s team over the past two seasons.”
Carmen’s brows rose. “That sounds like a fun Saturday night.”
“I know how to party,” Colby said dryly. “Point is, there’s a pattern. Every time a certain vendor in the Southeast region pops up in the bulletins, there’s a corresponding bump in spending from at least three teams, including the Dragons. Bigger than would make sense for just replacement parts.”
Bree frowned. “You think they’re buying black-market performance kits under the table.”
“I think they’re paying for something that doesn’t show up on the books,” Colby said. “The shell company Diaz traced that rental car to? It’s linked to a warehouse address in that vendor’s town. My guess is the parts come in there, get distributed through ‘consultants’ who show up at tracks, and disappear again.”
“Can Diaz use that?” Carmen asked.
“Maybe,” Colby said. “It’s not enough by itself; she needs something more solid. But it gives her a place to look. And it gives us a sense of the scope. This isn’t just one desperate rider with a hot bottle; it’s a whole network.”
Bree’s stomach tightened. “Are we poking a bigger bear than we realized?” she asked.
“Probably,” Colby said. “But somebody was going to, sooner or later. We just made sure it happened before someone died on live TV.”
She swallowed. “Great. That makes me feel so much better.”
He winced. “Sorry,” he said. “That sounded less comforting out loud.”
“I get what you meant,” she said. “I just… don’t love knowing there’s a network.”
“Diaz said the same,” Colby said. “Then she told me to keep my nose in the legitimate side and bring her anything I find. She’s looping in state and maybe federal if it looks interstate enough.”
“Which it does,” Carmen said. “Those guys brag about how many tracks they’re working.”
Bree folded her hands around her cup; they felt cold, even though the coffee was still warm.
“What do you need from me?” Bree asked.
"I actually wanted to talk out loud to someone with a good head on her shoulders to see if it makes sense."
Bree smiled. "It makes sense."
The bell over the café door chimed. Hank walked in, scanning the room automatically. His gaze found their table; his shoulders relaxed a notch as he threaded his way between chairs.
