At first glance, it looked like a standard shipping manifest for the harbor.

But as a tailor, I knew how to look at paper.

I knew how to feel for the grain and look for the inconsistencies.

I held the first page up to the light of the flickering bulb.

“Look at the texture,” I said.

Aries leaned forward, his face close to mine.

I could smell the rain on his wool coat and the faint scent of cedar.

“What am I looking for?” he asked.

“The paper is heavy bond,” I said.

“But the watermark isn’t standard.”

I pointed to the faint, translucent lines pressed into the fiber of the page.

It was a pattern of intersecting circles and a stylized anchor.

“That is the crest of the dock authority,” Aries said.

“No,” I replied, shaking my head.

“Look closer at the center of the anchor.”

“The crossbar is curved differently.”

“It is a double-headed serpent.”

Aries stiffened, his eyes locking onto the tiny detail.

“The Moretti family,” he muttered.

“Your rivals,” I said.

“They manufactured this paper.”