We open the tribute dashboard.
Numbers scroll.
Big ones.
Too big.
They’re categorized in polite language:stability contributions,external peace offsets,League compliance fees.The kind of words people use when they’re paying protection money but want to keep their self-respect.
I scroll back.
Back.
Back.
The transfers didn’t start after the assassination attempt on the Nun.
They started before.
Weeks before.
Months before.
My chest tightens, and the anger in me goes so cold it becomes clean.
I point at the first spike in outflow. “There.”
Fyr leans in, squinting. “That’s?—”
“That’s pre-hit,” Renn says, voice grim.
Fyr’s face shifts, a flicker of confusion breaking through his usual slick confidence. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” I say. “It means the story we were told is bullshit.”
Fyr swallows. “Kel said?—”
“Kel says a lot,” I cut in. “Most of it lately sounds like it came pre-approved by the Nine.”
Fyr’s hands tighten on the edge of the console. “Maybe it was… preemptive. Negotiations?—”
“No,” I say, and I tap the screen again, pulling up a routing chain. “Look at the shells. These aren’t negotiation transfers. These are structured siphons. Somebody built a pipeline.”
I pull up older archives.
Sealed.
Protected.
The console flashes warning prompts.
ARCHIVAL NODE — ACCESS RESTRICTED: GODFATHER ONLY
I stare at it a beat, then glance at Fyr.
“You got Godfather access?” I ask.
Fyr’s eyes narrow. “Why would I?”
