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I've spent most of the morning dismantling the financial architecture we uncovered yesterday. Hundreds of millions have moved through the seams between Crown businesses, shaved from transactions too small to attract scrutiny and routed into liquid structures designed to preserve rather than grow capital.

A reservoir.

Adrianos thinks it's enough money to start a war.

I think whoever built it has been planning something much worse than a beginning.

But knowing the money exists and identifying the person moving it are two different problems. OB6 has buried itself beneath legitimate businesses, respectable clearing houses, investment funds and financial institutions that process thousands of ordinary transactions every day.

The camouflage is almost perfect. Almost. I bring up the transfer map again.

There are forty-seven institutions involved in the transactions I've verified. Most appear once or twice. Some appear in clusters because they're natural service providers for Crown companies. Shipping money goes through marine insurers. Real-estate money moves through escrow accounts. International deals require currency clearing.

Normal.

I remove them, leaving thirty-one. I filter by transaction volume, reducing the list to twenty-two, then by frequency until only thirteen remain. I lean closer. One name has appeared enough times that I recognize it without consciously remembering where I first saw it: Asterion Private Bank. I search the database and discover the bank appears in nineteen of the transfer chains.

That's not remarkable by itself. Asterion is old, private, and deeply connected to the kinds of people who consider normal banking hours an inconvenience suffered by other humans.

I open its corporate profile.

Founded in Athens sixty-three years ago. Private ownership. Wealth management. Institutional services. Cross-border settlements. Discretionary investment administration.

Nothing screams criminal conspiracy.

Then again, respectable financial institutions rarely include facilitating organized crime beneath Services Offered.

I dig deeper. Asterion has ties to the Crown going back decades. Not ownership. That would be too obvious.

Service.

Private accounts. Escrow. Syndicated lending. Settlement services. Wealth management for businesses connected to several Crown families.

I pull up the current chairman.

Dimitris Karras, seventy-one, a banker and widower with two children who live abroad.

His professional biography is offensively clean. He joined Asterion straight out of university, became a director in his thirties and took control of private client operations before I was born. There are photographs of him at charity dinners, business conferences and cultural foundations. In one, he's shaking hands with a much younger Adrianos.

I enlarge it. Adrianos looks about twenty-five. Karras already has gray hair.

Interesting.

I search Adrianos's internal files for the name. There are hundreds of references. Routine ones. Loan agreements. Settlement authorizations. Property acquisitions. Investment reports. Old correspondence.

Karras isn't hiding from the Crown. He's practically furniture. That should make him less interesting.

It doesn't.

I stare at the transfer map.

"What are you doing here?"

Asterion appears during the property transactions. It appears again in shipping. Currency conversion. Investment servicing. Loan settlements.

But never as the obvious origin or destination, rather always somewhere in the middle.

I begin highlighting every appearance. Nineteen becomes twenty-three when I widen the search parameters. Then twenty-eight.