“Whose is it?” Declan asked.

Roman did not answer immediately.

He kept his eyes on the screen, his thumb tracing the glass.

“It is a ghost account,” Roman said. “It has been active since my father was alive.”

“That is impossible,” Victor said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I personally audited those accounts every year.”

“Then you missed it, Victor,” Roman said softly. “Or someone made sure you did.”

The tension in the room grew thick, the silence heavier than the rain outside.

I watched the three men, realizing the danger I had just put myself in.

I was no longer just a debt to be collected; I was the one holding the thread that could unravel their entire empire.

“We need to move her,” Declan said, looking toward the shattered window. “The shooter might come back with backup.”

“No,” Roman said. “She stays here. With me.”

“She is my responsibility tonight,” Declan protested, stepping forward.

“She has found a flaw in my books, Declan,” Roman said, his voice flat and unyielding. “That makes her my concern.”

Roman looked back at me, his cold demeanor shifting slightly.