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"You negotiate badly when you're tired."

"Thirty."

"I'll take forty."

"You'll take thirty."

"I'll pretend you won."

"That's generally enough."

I open the next account, and he stays.

For several minutes, neither of us speaks. It's different from the silences we've shared before. This is work silence, his shoulder almost touching mine while my fingers move over the keyboard and his eyes follow the numbers across the screens. There's no seduction hiding beneath it, no argument looking for a door, just two people staring at the same impossible thing.

Then Adrianos's phone lights beside his hand. He looks at it but doesn't answer. Instead, he types something short and puts the phone face down again.

I don't ask.

At present, I assume he's dealing with whatever violent billionaire men deal with at three in the morning. Probably scheduling. Murder has to be terrible for calendars.

I follow the money.

Another convergence appears, then another. Different account names, same behavior. The amounts begin accumulating in my spreadsheet until the total climbs from eight million to twelve, then thirty-one, then fifty-seven.

I stop and recalculate. Same answer.

Adrianos notices immediately. "How much?"

"That's only what I can see."

"Elena."

"Fifty-seven million across these accounts."

He doesn't react. Of course he doesn't. Fifty-seven million to Adrianos is apparently what seventeen dollars and a coupon are to normal people.

"But this is one sweep," I tell him. "One event. Petros triggered this batch. I don't know how many others exist."

I search backward and find the same recipient family three months earlier, only the convergence is smaller. Seven months ago, there's another.

My pulse begins hammering again.

"Wait."

Adrianos leans closer as I isolate one destination account and use its transaction fingerprint to search for others. Four hits appear. Then seven. I stare at the results. The accounts aren't dormant. They're holding. Not spending. Holding. Some have been accumulating for years.

Something unpleasant crawls slowly up my spine because money doesn't sit still at this scale unless somebody intends to use it.

Adrianos notices my expression. "What?"

"I don't know yet."

I need to be certain before I say it.

I pull the records again and begin checking the destination accounts properly. There are incoming transfers, but no meaningful operating expenses. No salaries. No taxes consistent with active businesses. No dividends. No acquisition spending. Just accumulation and occasional consolidation.

These are reservoirs. Financial lakes sitting behind dams, waiting for somebody to open the gates. Adrianos stands behind me now, and this time I barely notice him.