A van. A man with a beard. A gray Tacoma parked near a bay door with chipped paint.
“Blue door,” I note. It’s confirmation.
“There’s more,” Mikel adds. “A warehouse was rented last week under shell ownership. The paperwork looks legitimate, but the funding moved through three temporary firms that dissolved within days of the transfer.”
I glance at him.
“The layering is familiar,” he continues. “Fragmented deposits. Routed through businesses that don’t stay active long enough to draw scrutiny.”
I lower the photographs back into the folder.
Arkady has the motive and the reach to carry it out. He would use Rowan and Lila without hesitation if it served him. But one detail doesn’t line up. Arkady spent decades as my father’s strategic advisor. He built operations meant to be understood by the men they were aimed at. He prefers clarity once a move is made. He wants you to know who moved the board and why. This was quiet and contained, built to take and disappear without drawing attention. That isn’t how he usually operates.
I roll my shoulders once beneath my coat and let my hands rest at my sides, keeping my posture easy even though nothing about this is. I don’t share that part with Mikel. Not yet. Until it’s solid, it’s a distraction, and distraction gets people hurt.
We return to the vehicles and continue deeper into the district toward the warehouse listed in the rental documents.Streetlights thin out here, replaced by motion sensors that blink on as we pass, leaving long stretches of darkness between pools of dim light.
Karp lifts two fingers from the passenger seat, and the SUV slows. He points toward a bay door with peeling blue paint. We park down the block and step out, leaving the engines off this time. We approach on foot, spacing ourselves so we don’t present a single target.
The air smells like damp metal and old oil. Snow crunches lightly beneath our boots where it’s gathered in drifts beside pallets and dumpsters.
Mikel stops near the door and studies the padlock.
“It’s new,” he notes.
“New locks on old doors,” I reply. “That’s always interesting.”
Karp moves to the side wall and tests the seam near a service entrance. He doesn’t force it, just checks the give. It’s reinforced. Someone spent money here.
I look up at the roofline. There are no cameras visible. That can mean none exist, or that they’re hidden. I lift my phone and call the financial lead who handles the quiet side of our business.
“Freeze the shell accounts tied to this rental chain,” I instruct. “Do it through compliance, not through force, and make it look like an internal audit.”
A pause, then, “Understood.”
“Also,” I add, “flag any outbound transfers linked to Arkady’s usual funnels. I want an alert before money moves, not after.”
“Yes,pakhan.”
I end the call and look at Mikel.
“Put surveillance on Arkady’s captains,” I tell him. “Keep it quiet. I want movement logs, phone logs, and vehicle logs.”
Mikel nods. “And our people?”
“Quiet internal review,” I instruct. “No accusations. Just verification.”
Because if Arkady has help from inside, it won’t come from a man who thinks he’ll be caught in an hour. It will come from someone who believes he’s invisible.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Polina.
I answer quickly.
“The van hits the train yard cameras for twelve seconds,” she tells me. “It turns into the yard, then loses coverage under the overpass, and after that it doesn’t appear on public feeds again.”
“Time stamp?” I request.
