It was a single image of a burnt ledger page, accompanied by three words.

*They are lying.*

I stared at the screen, the blue light reflecting in the puddles at my feet.

*They are lying.*

The image of the burnt page was grainy, but the hand-drawn columns were clear.

“Get in the car, Callahan,” Declan said, his voice cutting through the hiss of the rain.

I slid my phone back into my apron pocket and climbed into the leather seat.

The door clicked shut, sealing out the damp night air.

Roman sat in the front seat next to the driver, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.

Victor was not in the vehicle.

We drove in silence, the neon signs of the docks fading into the dark, wooded hills at the edge of Calder City.

The car slowed down as we approached a set of towering wrought-iron gates.

Two men in heavy coats stood under umbrellas, rifles slung over their shoulders.

They checked the plates, waved us through, and the gates groaned shut behind us.

The estate was a sprawling stone fortress surrounded by black pine trees.