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“Understood.”
Next.
“Nico.”
My pilot.
“Prep the jet.”
Silence.
Then—“Destination?”
I look back at the screen. “California.”
Within twenty minutes, my home fills with quiet efficiency.
Screens light up.
Data pulls.
Maps populate.
Stanford.
Residence halls.
Training facilities.
Her schedule begins to take shape.
A photo of her flashes across one monitor.
Then another.
I step closer.
Study it.
“She did this alone?” I murmur.
No one answers.
They don’t need to.
It’s obvious.
Another screen.
Her mother.
Name.
Location.
Rhode Island.
Financial records surface.
