“And this one?” Armen taps the property transfer.
“L. Fischer. City development officer. From Renner’s papers. The signature on the shell companies, the audit denial, the property transfers that created this building.”
Nobody says anything.
Rogue picks up both pages, holds them next to each other, and tilts them toward the light from the cracked skylight. His face changes as he compares. The easygoing bullshit drops away. Underneath it is the Rogue that most people don’t see—sharp, focused, thinking very fast.
“It’s close,” he says. “It’s real close. But handwriting? That’s your evidence?”
“It’s what I’ve got.”
“Handwriting analysis isn’t exactly hard science, Sting. People have similar styles. Could be a coincidence.”
“Slashed sevens, strange fours, the same lean on every capital, the same crossbar on the F. That’s not a coincidence. That’s a match.”
“Or it’s two guys who went to the same school,” Rogue says. Not arguing, just testing. Pushing back the way he does when he wants to make sure we’re not running on assumptions.
I can appreciate that. I do the same.
“How old is Tommy?” he asks.
“Mid-forties. Maybe late forties. Hard to tell.”
“Fischer would be what? Based on the dates on these documents?”
“About the same. The timeline fits.”
“How long has Tommy been here?”
“As long as I can remember. He was already here when we started building this place into what it is.”
Armen nods slowly. “If Fischer signed the property transfers for this building, he’d know it was untraceable. When Rothwell collapsed, he’d know exactly where to hide.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“That’s a theory,” Rogue says. “A good one. But it’s still a theory.”
He’s right. The handwriting is a strong match, but it’s not a fingerprint. I don’t have a photograph of Landis Fischer to compare to Tommy’s face. I don’t have a confession. I’ve got two pieces of paper with similar penmanship, a timeline that fits, and a gut feeling that’s been nagging me since seeing this guy chat up Mara.
“There’s something else,” I say. “He’s been spending time with Mara.”
Both of them look at me.
“Mara,” Armen says. Flat.
“Multiple times. In the neutral zone. Long conversations. Focused attention. She told Vi about it. Called him a friend. Said he was helping her understand how the Rot works.”
“Could just be a guy being friendly,” Rogue says. “Mara’s pretty. It follows that some dude is going to move on her.”
“Could be. Or it could be a man who spent a career hiding money and blocking audits, using the new girl to find out what Vi knows about her father and the whole city council. Mara’s trusting. She’s open. She doesn’t know the rules here yet. Ifsomeone wanted to figure out how deep Vi’s gotten into those papers without asking Vi directly, Mara’s the easiest way in.”
Rogue sits down. Runs his hand through his hair. “Well, fuck all.”
“Yup.”
Armen picks up the property transfer again, studies Fischer’s signature one more time, then sets it down. “What do you want to do?” he asks.
“Let’s watch him. Don’t spook the guy. Don’t change anything. I want to know who he talks to, where he goes, what he does when he’s not counting boxes. If he’s Fischer, he’s been hiding here for years. He’s careful. If he gets the sense that anyone’s looking at him, he’ll disappear.”
