"Anything?" he asked after the first hour.
"Not yet. Everyone's financial information looks clean so far. Salaries match positions. No unusual deposits or withdrawals." I rubbed my eyes. "But there has to be something. Winston wouldn't risk claiming he has informants unless he actually does."
"Unless he's desperate enough to lie."
"Maybe. But that's not his style. He only makes claims he can back up. Control through information. That's always been his approach." I pulled up another spreadsheet. "There. Look at this."
Elio moved closer. Looked over my shoulder at the screen.
"Expense reports?" he asked.
"Reimbursements. Most employees get them for work-related expenses. Gas, meals during long shifts, things like that. But look at these three." I highlighted the names. "Tom Wright—night janitor. Amy Chen—part-time bartender. Max Morrison—junior security guard on the weekend shift. They're all getting small deposits that don't match submitted expense reports."
Elio leaned in. "How much?"
"Five hundred to a thousand dollars a month. Irregular intervals but consistent over the past six months. The amounts are small enough not to trigger automatic fraud detection. But they're there."
"Could be legitimate bonuses. Performance incentives."
"Except they're not going through payroll. They're direct deposits from an external source." I clicked through more data."And none of them are documented in HR records. No bonus authorization. No paper trail. Just money appearing in their accounts."
Elio's expression shifted. "That's suspicious."
"Very." I opened a new window. Started tracing the deposits back through banking records. "The money's coming from shell companies. Multiple layers. Someone put effort into hiding the source."
I worked through the corporate structures systematically. Using everything I'd learned during my internship. Following the money through holding companies and subsidiaries and deliberately convoluted ownership structures.
Elio watched me work. I could feel his eyes on me. Feel his attention. When I glanced up, he was looking at me with something like pride.
"What?" I asked.
"You're brilliant. I knew you were smart but watching you work like this—" He shook his head. "You're really good at this."
Heat rose to my face. "I'm just following basic forensic accounting procedures."
"Most people couldn't do what you're doing right now. Trust me." He leaned down and kissed my temple. "Keep going. Find out where that money's really coming from."
I went back to work. Followed the trail through three more layers of corporate structure. And then—
"There." My voice came out sharp. Certain. "The money's coming from accounts connected to Bianchi family operations."
Elio went very still. "Winston's accounts?"
"Not his main ones. Subsidiary operations. Companies that handle logistics and distribution for Bianchi interests. But they're definitely connected to my family." I pulled up more records. "Look at the timeline. These deposits started seven months ago. Right around when Winston's arrangement withRebecca Watson was at its peak. He was setting up insurance. Planting people inside Inferno in case everything fell apart."
"Three moles," Elio said quietly. "Not one."
"Three. Low-level employees who wouldn't draw attention. But with access to useful information. Schedules. Shipments. Who comes and goes. Not critical details but enough to be dangerous."
"Enough to convince the FBI there's ongoing criminal activity worth investigating."
I looked at him. Saw the controlled fury in his eyes. Recognized it because I felt it too.
My father had done this. Months ago. While I was still at school, planning my escape, thinking I was being clever—he'd been setting up contingencies. Planting people. Making sure he had leverage even if everything went wrong.
He'd known. Not that I specifically would betray him. But that something might go wrong. And he'd prepared.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "This is my fault. My family—"
