Her smile widens.
“I like you,” she says. “You don’t waste time pretending you’re small.”
I lean forward, elbows on the glass table.
“Let’s skip the flirting. You said my restaurant sits on strategically unusual ground. You were right. Now I want to know what the Nine are planning to do about it.”
She tilts her head.
“And what are you offering in return.”
“Information,” I say. “Not favors. Not future leverage. Not my soul in a bottle.”
She arches a brow.
“You’re negotiating like someone who understands how syndicates actually work.”
“I ran a restaurant on Novaria,” I reply. “I have dealt with worse men than you before breakfast.”
A soft laugh escapes her.
“Fair.”
I slide my tablet across the table.
It lights up with a map of syndicate interest overlays, shell companies, municipal choke points, and the transit-adjacent zoning anomalies Ishaan and I traced last night.
Her pupils dilate.
Just a fraction.
“Pressure points,” I say. “Three Glimner-adjacent shell companies are laundering capital through a port authority trust that hasn’t been audited in twenty years. Two city councilors owe their reelection campaigns to a developer who is technically insolvent. And someone high up in transit is hiding an infrastructure liability that would cost them their career if it went public.”
Lenara inhales slowly.
“That’s… thorough.”
“I’m not reacting anymore,” I say. “I’m planning.”
She studies the map.
Then looks up at me again.
“What do you want to know.”
“Where the Nine are moving next,” I reply. “Who they’re subcontracting for ground access. Which of my people they’re leaning on. And how close they are to figuring out what’s under my family’s foundation.”
She considers.
“You are asking me to betray a very lucrative client.”
“I’m asking you to adjust your portfolio,” I correct. “The Nine are about to overplay their hand. You can either go down with them or hedge early.”
Her smile turns slow and sharp.
“You are dangerous,” she murmurs.
“Thank you.”
