“The Vescari family keeps two sets of books,” I said, looking toward Roman’s shadow.

“The real ones are coded in Cyrillic, which my father cannot read.”

“He copied the dummy files, thinking he was stealing the keys to the kingdom.”

“The cargo he promised you in warehouse four is actually a shipment of industrial salt.”

Vance slowly lowered his weapon a few inches, his brow furrowing.

“How do you know this?” the mercenary asked.

“Because I am the one who balanced those books,” I said.

“I spent three months fixing Roman’s accounts while my father was drinking away his debts in the lower ward.”

I took a step forward, the wet concrete cold beneath my shoes.

“I know every dollar that enters this harbor, and I know exactly where it goes.”

“Your payment was never cleared, Vance.”

“It was a ghost transaction meant to keep you shooting until my father could get on a boat to Montreal.”

Vance turned his head slowly to look at my father.

The silence in the warehouse was heavier than the rain outside.

My father took a step backward, his eyes darting toward the exit.