“Yeah,” Sting says.
“Oh my God. Are they the same guy?”
“We think so. It’s not proof but it’s a strong match.”
I stare at the pages. My thoughts splinter. Connecting Tommy’s face to Fischer’s name, replaying our conversation in the atrium. That friendly smile and the careful questions.Has she found anything that gives her some peace?The gaps. The missing pieces. How the story ends.
He knew. He’s known all along. He wasn’t making conversation. He was spying on me through my best friend.
I knew there was something off about him.
“How long have you known about this?” I ask. My voice is very calm. Dangerously calm.
Sting doesn’t flinch. “About two weeks. The handwriting match came first. We’ve been watching him since.”
“We.”
“The three of us.”
“Two weeks.” I look at Armen, at Rogue, then back at Sting. “You’ve known for two weeks that the man who destroyed myfather’s career might be living in this building. Eating at our table. Talking to Mara. And you didn’t tell me.”
The irony is so thick, I could choke on it. Last night, Sting stood in my room and told me he was trying, that he’d include me, that he heard me, and the whole time was sitting on this.
Rogue speaks first. “Vi, we couldn’t risk?—”
“Shut up.” I hold up my hand. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t risk it. Don’t tell me it was tactical. Don’t tell me I’d have gone straight at him and blown the whole thing. I know that’s what you were thinking, and you’re probably right. I would have confronted him.”
“That’s why—” Rogue starts.
“I said shut up.”
My fury that goes quiet instead of loud, the kind I learned from watching Sting, which is its own kind of ironic. My hands are flat on the table, my breathing is even, but inside, I’m on fire.
And underneath the fury, my brain is already working.
Tommy is Fischer, the man who signed the shell company contracts, blocked Dad’s audit, and approved the property transfers. He’s the man whose corruption hollowed out Rothwell, killed Sting’s mother’s livelihood, and drove my family into ruin. He’s been living in the Rot, counting boxes, making friends, and asking questions of the woman who trusted him.
Mara.
Mara trusted him because that’s who she is, open, warm, and trusting.
I close my eyes, then open them. The fury is still there but it’s changing shape and hardening. It’s becoming something I can use.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
They look at me. I can see their surprise. They clearly expected to yell, storm out, or tear into them for keeping this from me. They were braced for an explosion.
“We set a trap,” Sting says, explaining the planted information. “And he fell right into it.”
“What did he do?” I ask.
Rogue leans forward. “He broke his routine for the first time since we’ve been watching him. He went to the supply room after hours and pulled the binder with the trade requisitions. We think he was checking his own paperwork to see if his handwriting was exposed.”
“He’s scared,” Armen says.
Holy shit.
“There’s more,” Sting says. “The next morning, he approached a trader from the north corridor, a guy we don’t know well. They had a short conversation and Tommy gave him something, something small. I couldn’t see what but the trader left the Rot that afternoon.”
