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Stefanos Drakos doesn't look like a man who helps finance wars.

He looks like a man who sends wine back when it isn't chilled to the exact temperature he requested.

He's in his mid-fifties, silver at the temples and dressed in a navy suit that probably costs more than my first car. His hands are soft, his nails immaculate, and he carries himself with the weary confidence of someone who has spent decades handling secrets belonging to powerful men.

That confidence falters when Adrianos's men escort him into a windowless room beneath a Crown-owned office building.

There are no chains, bloodstained floors or instruments of torture. Just a table and three chairs. Somehow, the simplicity makes the room more threatening.

Drakos looks at Adrianos first. Everyone does. Then he sees me. Recognition flickers across his face.

Interesting.

"You know who I am," I say.

"I know who he is."

"That wasn't what I asked."

His gaze returns to Adrianos. "I want an attorney."

Adrianos sits beside me rather than across from him. "You misunderstand where you are."

Drakos swallows.

I open my laptop. "We know you administer a private financial platform used by Petr Vasilev."

Nothing.

Petr Vasilev is the name attached to the man who attacked me.

I watch Drakos instead of my screen. His left thumb rubs once against his index finger.

Nervous.

"Vasilev accessed your platform six times this month," I continue. "Yesterday, he authenticated at fourteen seventeen. Several hours later, he entered Adrianos's penthouse using compromised security credentials and attempted to abduct me."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Good. Then this should be quick."

I bring up the Cyprus company.

"Recognize it?"

"No."

His thumb moves again. I glance at Adrianos.

He notices.

That's another thing that has changed between us. I don't need to explain every thought anymore. He understands enough of my rhythms to know when I've spotted something.

I open the payment records. "Three transfers entered this company through structures connected to OB6. One ultimately reached a platform you administer. From there, the money splintered."

"I manage hundreds of accounts."

"And apparently remember none of them."