Page 58

Her grip is firm, confident, direct — everything about her suggests competence, and the realization eases something inside me. Maybe because Brock trusts her. Maybe because she already feels different from every official we've encountered so far, every person who took a file, nodded thoughtfully, and produced nothing.

Helena's attention shifts to the evidence spread across the counter and the amusement vanishes from her face immediately. She reaches for a filer, then another. The room grows quieter. Nobody speaks, nobody interrupts, and Helena moves through every document with an intensity that becomes almost unnerving to watch — occasionally flipping backward, then forward, then backward again, her focus absolute and unhurried.

Finally she leans back slowly, and a smile appears. Not a happy smile. A fascinated one — the kind that surfaces when someone has found exactly the puzzle they were looking for.

"Oh."

My pulse quickens. "What?"

She taps the paperwork once. "This is fun."

I blink. "Fun?"

"A puzzle," she says, completely serious, attention already back on the files. "A complicated one. A maze." The smile grows. "And I enjoy mazes."

Helena studies the financial records for several more minutes before setting one file aside.

"This is too organized."

Brock looks up. "Meaning?"

"Meaning people like this Marissa fellow don't move money through this many businesses without help." Helena taps a finger against the paperwork. "Somebody trusted her with access. Accounts, records and authorizations. She got it from someone, a prominent business person actually"

"You think she had a partner?"

" Either that or she had people who never realized they were being used."

The room falls quiet.

Helena closes the file.

"Find the person who trusted her most with their financial records, and I suspect we'll find whatever she's still hiding.”

The confidence in her voice catches me — not arrogance, certainty. The distinction matters more than I plan for it to. Helena continues reading, several moments pass in silence, and then she closes the final folder.

"I'm taking these."

I blink again. "Okay?"

She gathers the paperwork calmly, efficiently, tucking it beneath her arm. "I'm reviewing everything independently — fresh eyes on the problem." Brock doesn't object, which tells me he expected exactly this. Helena catches my concern and offers a smaller smile, one clearly meant to reassure. "I'll return them."

The explanation makes sense, and more importantly, it sounds useful — which is something we have been desperately short of.

She secures the files and glances toward Brock. "I'll be at the hotel."

"I know," he says.

Helena starts toward the door, then pauses. Her gaze moves between us — once, twice — and the smile returns, different this time. Sharper. More knowing.

"Oh."

I don't like that tone at all. "What?"

Her grin widens. "Nothing."

Then she leaves, and the door swings shut behind her.

Silence follows. I look at Brock. Brock looks at the door. Neither of us speaks for a long moment, and then a laugh rises out of me — a real one, full and unguarded, the kind I haven't produced in longer than I can remember. Brock glances my way, and the weight that has followed him for days seems lighter. Not gone, but lighter, and that difference is enough.