PART 10:

She picked up her tea and took a slow sip and looked out the window at the gray November Street and thought, “Got you.” But she was two blocks from the coffee shop when her prepaid phone rang. The transmission cut out for 40 seconds. Daniel said no preamble. At the 11 minute mark, did anything happen? He reached for his phone under the table. He made a call. 38 seconds.

We couldn’t intercept it. He used a scrambled line. A pause. Lucian wants you back here now. She walked faster. What happened? Someone accessed the storage facility in Oak Park 40 minutes ago. Daniel’s voice had gone flat with the particular tone of someone delivering bad news with professional neutrality. Unit 14. Your sister’s unit.

Aurora stopped walking. The street continued around her. A woman pushed a stroller. A cab accelerated through a yellow light. The folder, she said. Gone, Daniel said. And Aurora, this your sister. She’s not answering her phone. Aurora was already running. The city blurred around her. Sidewalk, street, the gray sky pressing down.

And somewhere beneath the running and the fear and the sick cold flood of adrenaline, a thought formed with absolute clarity. They hadn’t been waiting 48 hours. They’d been one step ahead the entire She ran six blocks before she got Nora on the phone. The call connected on the fifth ring, and the sound of her sister’s voice, confused, slightly irritated, alive, hit Aurora so hard she nearly stumbled on the curb.

Aurora, what? Where are you? Aurora was breathing through her mouth. Running in heels she’d worn to appear soft and unthreatening. The concrete punishing every step. I’m at the warehouse. I came in early for a double shift. Why are you stay there? Don’t go home. Don’t go to the storage unit. Stay at work. And don’t open the door for anyone you don’t know.

Aurora ducked into a building. Al cove. I’ll explain later. I promise I’ll explain everything. Just stay where you are. You’re scaring me. Good. Stay scared. Stay inside. She hung up, pressed her back against the brick, let herself have 5 seconds of oxygen and stillness, then called Daniel. My sister’s safe, she said. She wasn’t there. Copy that.

The relief in his voice was brief and professional. “Car is half a block north of your position. Blue sedan. Get in.” She found the car, climbed in the back. Daniel pulled into traffic without looking at her, eyes on the mirrors, driving with the quiet efficiency of someone who’d done this in circumstances worse than these.

The folder is gone, she said. Yes. Which means Damian called someone the moment I mentioned it, which means whoever he called got to Oak Park in under 2 hours. She was doing the math out loud, needing to hear it. He knew exactly where to go. Not exactly, Daniel said. They searched three units before yours.

Your sister’s name isn’t on the lease. It’s her ex-husband’s. They had to work for it. But they got there. Yes. Which means the meeting is blown. He knows I was lying. Almost certainly. Aurora looked out the window. Chicago moving past. Ordinary Wednesday morning. People with coffee and problems sized for ordinary life.

Take me to Lucian, she said. Lucian was standing when she walked in. Not the controlled stillness of the previous nights, something tighter in him, coiled, the posture of a man who’d been still for a long time and was running out of patience for it. Reva was on her feet, too, at the whiteboard. Something new written in red marker across the upper right corner.

Aurora read it. A date, tonight’s date, and a location. Asheford Estate, Lake Geneva, 2,200. They moved the gala up. Reva said before Aurora could ask. We got confirmation 20 minutes ago. Private event tonight. Invitation only. 40 guests maximum. That’s not a gala. Aurora said that’s a meeting.

A liquidation meeting, Lucian said. His voice was stripped of its usual architecture, the careful layering that kept the temperature controlled. They know the folder is in play. They know someone is building a case tonight. They burn what they can’t afford to have found. consolidate what they can and cut loose anyone who constitutes a liability. He paused.

Damian is on the guest list, which means he’s not a liability yet. He bought himself time by delivering information about you. About you? The phrase landed like a palm pressed flat against a wound. What about the transfer record? Aurora asked. The one on the server still there? They don’t know we know about it. Lucian moved to the table.

The map spread across. It was detailed. Architectural drawings, satellite imagery, security rotation schedules with times annotated in Reva’s tight handwriting. If they delete it tonight, we lose the direct connection between Asheford and the contract on Elena. The financial case still exists, but the murder case dies. Aurora looked at the architectural drawing.

Ce the Asheford estate in Lake Geneva was a 19th century property. 53 acres main house and three outuildings, a private dock on the lake’s eastern shore. The server room was marked in the east wing of the main house, two corridors from the primary gathering space. Biometric access, she said. Damen will be there, Lucian said, which means the biometrics are present.

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