Page 31 of Mane in Finance

"Everyone we found," Kian says. "Medics are waiting beyond the fence. Nobody gets left in this place."

Kurtis catches my eye and gives one hard nod. For weeks we've been arriving after trucks had gone, after houses were empty, after families had disappeared. Tonight, for once, the doors opened in the other direction.

I don't celebrate. I can't, not yet, I need to know she's still alive. Until I've put my eyes on her, victory is just a word.

"Sophie." I'm already moving, past Cantu, past Hector, toward the hardened vault. "She said the database is dead. She did her part. I need…"

"Go. I've got the floor. Go find her."

I go, bleeding and afraid. I find her in the network vault, filthy, exhausted, and standing on her own two feet, already heading toward me.

"You're bleeding," she says, and her voice breaks on it.

"You're alive," I answer, and pull her into me, and finally, finally, believe we made it.

27

SOPHIE

Lucian's blood is drying on my sweater once the adrenaline relieves me, and the instant it does, my brain stops being a frightened human and becomes an accountant again, because only I can finish it.

We're in the back of one of Kurtis' trucks, parked up where the wolves are walking the families into freedom. Someone's wrapped Lucian's shoulder, the chemical burn Cantu's weapon left is closing slower than an ordinary wound, angry and raw, and I keep touching the bandage like I can will it heal faster. He catches my hand the fourth time I do it.

"It'll heal," he says. "It always does. Stop auditing my shoulder."

"Occupational hazard." But I hold his hand, and I pull the laptop onto my knees with the other one. "I need fifteen minutes. Then I promise we can go."

"What's left? The database is gone. You said so yourself."

"Yes, but the crime isn't. Remember what I said I told him, he's going to be arrested for it. That only works if the feds get exactly the right file. Not one byte more, not one byte less."

Lucian shifts, wincing. "Meaning what, precisely?"

"Meaning I have to build a case that's airtight yet blind at the same time." I start pulling threads apart on the display, his shell companies, the trafficking wire transfers, all the years of embezzlement with Clifford's signature on every layer. "Every dollar that names a family, I strip out before this touches a federal server. If a single protected name rides along in the evidence, Clifford doesn't go to jail. I hand a prosecutor the exact map Cantu died trying to buy."

He watches the trackpad click away, and his tired face adjusts. "You're scrubbing your own evidence," he says slowly. "Making it powerful enough to destroy him and useless for anything else."

"Yes, a tool that only points in one direction." I isolate the protected data and burn it out of the case file, then run the check twice. "There. It'll put him away for life and it won't lead an investigator to a single shifter even if they read it a hundred times. Ordinary fraud, ordinary trafficking, an ordinary greedy man." I hit send, routing it straight to the federal field office that spent four years chasing the commodities case I testified on, people I trust, people that already know my name means the numbers are real. "Done. It's with the feds. Officially, tonight, Clifford Stanley became the largest financial-crimes target this district has seen."

The relief doesn't last long, which is exactly how long it takes me to remember the one variable I left running loose in the building.

"He ran, Lucian." I'm already pulling up a different window. "Clifford. On foot, east, with a laptop full of partial records. The feds have the evidence, but evidence doesn't arrest anybody. If he crosses a state line tonight, he's a fugitive with a head start and a lifetime of knowing how to disappear. He'd have his exit planned, would have since this started."

"Then we tell Hector to sweep the…"

"Hector can't out-think him. I can. Here's what a careful man forgets when he's running for his life. He still needs money. His own escape fund still lives." I find the first thread and click. "A prepaid travel account he topped up three days ago, right after he confirmed the sale. Even sprinting from a burning building, some part of Clifford never once believed he'd win clean."

Lucian leans in despite the shoulder. "Where does it go?"

"A regional airfield. Thirty-five minutes north. Charter, not commercial, no manifest, no TSA, exactly what you'd use if you needed to escape the country." I lock the timestamp and forward it, adding it to the federal package as a live lead. "He'll be driving there right now thinking he's clever."

They take him at the airfield gate an hour later, and I get to watch it happen in the worst, most satisfying way, as a grainy security still, forwarded by a field agent I once spent nine days on a witness stand for.

The agent's message is four words: Got him. Clean arrest. I read it three times before I believe it, then I turn the phone so Lucian can see.

"Cantu's dead," I tell him. "The commanders and the buyers are in custody. Clifford's in a holding cell ninety minutes north, and every charge on him is an ordinary human crime that leads exactly nowhere. The database is ash. There is nothing left, anywhere, that can point a single stranger at your people." I finally close the laptop. "It's over, Lucian. It's actually over."

He's quiet, taking it in, and when he speaks his voice has dropped to what he saves for the things that matter most.