The line goes dead.
I stand in the hallway, phone in hand, staring at nothing. Another variable. Another complication. The war keeps expanding, pulling in people who never asked to be part of it.
Alexandra appears in the doorway of our room. She's wearing one of my t-shirts, hair mussed from sleep, eyes sharp despite the hour.
"What happened?" she asks.
"Someone found your ledgers."
Her face goes pale. "How?"
"Legal assistant at Marchetti Holdings. She accessed files she wasn't supposed to see." I cross to her, take her hands. "Claudio's bringing her in. We need to figure out if she's a threat or an asset."
"If she's seen the offshore accounts, if she understands what they mean..." Alexandra's mind is already racing. I can see it in her eyes, the calculations running. "She could expose everything. Or she could help us trace it further."
"That's what we need to find out."
An hour later, Claudio walks into the compound with Charlotte Richardson.
She's not what I expected. Tall, professional, wearing a blazer that's torn at the shoulder and heels that are scuffed from running. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail that's coming undone, and there's a cut on her forehead that's still bleeding sluggishly. But her eyes are clear. Sharp. Taking in every detail of the compound with the analytical precision of someone who's used to deciphering information.
She doesn't look afraid. She looks furious.
"I want to know who tried to kill me," she says before anyone can speak. "And I want to know why those ledgers exist."
Claudio stands behind her, arms crossed, face unreadable. He catches my eye and gives a tiny nod. Assessment: not a liability.
"Sit down, Miss Richardson," I say. "We have a lot to discuss."
The interrogation takes three hours.
Charlotte doesn't buckle. She doesn't stammer or cry or beg. She answers questions with the same cold precision Claudio uses on enemies, and she asks questions of her own that cut closer to the truth than I'd like.
She knows what she saw. She’s almost as quick as my girl. She doesn’t know who's behind it, but she's already started connecting dots.
"You're laundering money," she says flatly. "Both families are. But these accounts aren't yours. They're not the Castillo’s either. Someone else is playing both sides."
"Yes," I say.
"Who?"
"That's what we're trying to find out."
She leans back in her chair. Studies me with those sharp, analytical eyes.
"You brought me here because you think I can help," she says. "Not because you think I'm a threat. If you thought I was a threat, I'd already be dead."
She's not wrong.
"You recognized patterns in those ledgers that you shouldn’t have," I say. "That makes you valuable."
"Valuable enough to protect?"
"That depends on you."
Alexandra has been watching from the corner, silent, absorbing. Now she steps forward.
"I built those ledgers. I found the patterns and put them together. They were supposed to be in safe holdings, yet somehow you accessed them," she says. "The offshore accounts, the shell corporations, the money flows. I've been tracking them for weeks." She pulls a chair up across from Charlotte and sits. "I need someone who can help me trace them further. Someone who understands corporate finance at a level I don't."
