Victor took a slow step forward, his shadow stretching across the desk.

“To which account, Maeve?” Victor asked, his voice smooth and patient.

I compared the pencil codes to the master list of bank routing numbers pasted at the very front of the book.

“None of yours,” I said, looking up at the three men.

“And none of my father’s.”

“The money from the Vescari shipping routes, the Salvi port authorities, and Declan’s warehouses.”

“It has all been going to the same offshore trust in Grand Cayman.”

Declan swore under his breath, his heavy boots shifting on the floorboards.

“How much?” Declan asked, his voice rough and impatient.

I did the math quickly, my fingers tracing the columns back through five years of records.

The total was staggering, far beyond any debt my father had ever claimed to owe.

“Millions,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Every single month, for the last seven years.”

Roman took the pencil from my fingers, his cold hand brushing against mine as he took the paper.

He wrote down three separate account numbers from his own mental database.