The bruises on her wrists are visible where the zip ties cut too deep. Her shoulders are tense, drawn up protectively. She’s favoring her left side slightly.
I stop directly in front of her, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
“How did you get access to my facility?” I ask. “Forged credentials don’t explain everything. You had specific knowledge—shift schedules, terminal locations, security blind spots. Who helped you?”
“No one.”
“Elena—”
“No one helped me. I did the research myself. Old contacts, social engineering, publicly available information combined with observation.”
It’s partially true. I can hear the truth in it, but there’s something she’s holding back.
“Who did you plan to give the data to?”
“Journalists. Authorities. Anyone who would listen.”
“Names.”
“I hadn’t decided yet.”
I grip her chin, fingers firm but not painful, forcing her to hold my gaze. Her pulse jumps under my thumb, heartbeat wild and terrified despite the fury in her eyes.
“Don’t lie to me,” I say quietly. “Lying makes this harder for both of us.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” I tighten my grip slightly. “You had specific targets. Journalists who’ve written about organized crime, prosecutors known for pursuing financial fraud cases. You researched them the same way you researched my operations. Who was at the top of your list?”
She tries to jerk away. I don’t let her. Just hold her there, waiting for the truth.
“Financial Times. They’ve done exposés on Eastern European crime syndicates before.”
Truth. Finally.
I release her chin. She stumbles back immediately, putting distance between us.
“Anyone else?”
“Does it matter? You have the drive. You destroyed the evidence. I have nothing.”
“You have knowledge. You have context. You could recreate parts of what you found from memory, feed it to someone who knows what questions to ask.”
“Then why keep me alive?” The question comes out desperate and challenging at once. “If I’m that dangerous, why not just kill me and be done with it?”
Good question.
I resume circling, considering how much truth to give her. She watches me move, breath coming faster, hands clenching and unclenching.
“You broke into my facility,” I say eventually. “Stole my data. Made yourself my enemy. Under normal circumstances, you’d already be dead. But these aren’t normal circumstances.”
“Why not?”
“You’re Walter Lawrence’s daughter, and your family’s collapse serves my interests better with you alive than dead. And because—” I stop behind her, close enough that my voice reaches her alone. “—killing you would be a waste.”
She spins to face me. “A waste of what?”
“Potential.”
