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I lower the paperwork. "What do we do?"

The dangerous smile appears — the one that means she already has a plan and has had one for some time. "I know somebody," she says.

Of course she does.

The asset recovery center doesn't look like anything special from the outside, which is probably the point. The building sits quietly between two office complexes with no signs, no advertisements, no indication whatsoever of what happens inside. I study it, then look at Helena.

"This is the place?"

"Yes."

"It looks normal."

Helena laughs. "That's because it isn't."

We enter together. The lobby appears entirely ordinary — employees moving between desks, phones ringing, computers humming, nothing unusual, nothing to suggest the building is anything other than what it pretends to be. The receptionist smiles when we approach.

"Can I help you?"

Helena smiles back. "I'd like to see Philip."

No questions are asked. A phone call is made, and moments later we're being escorted upstairs. I wait until the elevator doors close before speaking.

"What exactly is this place?"

Helena glances toward me. "The district branch."

"Of what?"

"The bank."

I blink. "The offshore illegal bank?"

She nods. "The same one."

I stare at her. "The government doesn't know about this."

"No." Her smile widens. "They're very proud of that."

The elevator opens. I suddenly have several new questions and no comfortable place to put them.

Philip looks completely ordinary, which immediately makes me suspicious. The man rises from behind his desk when we enter — dark suit, pleasant smile, professional posture. If someone told me he managed a bookstore I would believe it, and if someone told me he ran an offshore banking network I would believe that too. He has the quality of a person who could be anything.

"Helena." The smile broadens. "What a pleasant surprise."

Helena shakes his hand. "Philip." The two regard each other with the ease of people who share a great deal of history and have collectively decided not to discuss most of it. I make a mental note not to ask.

Helena gestures toward me. "This is Brock."

Philip offers his hand and I shake it. The smile never wavers. Helena catches my expression immediately. "Don't be fooled."

Philip laughs, unbothered and genuine. I look between them, and Helena folds her arms. "He's notorious."

He places a hand over his chest. "As compliments go, that's one of my favorites."

She ignores him with the practiced ease of a person who had been ignoring him for years. "We need a favor."

Philip leans back in his chair. "I assumed as much." Helena produces a piece of paper and slides it across the desk — the offshore SWIFT number. Philip studies it, and something shifts in his expression immediately. The amusement disappears, replaced by something sharper and more careful.