“And paying the council members with the proceeds,” Killian added from the front seat.

“He used my own tailors to pass the codes,” Aries said, his jaw tightening. “The men who made my suits.”

“They were threatened,” I said. “Or bought. The tension on these stitches is tight, frantic. Whoever did this was afraid.”

The car turned onto the West Side Highway, the river a black expanse on our left.

The rain was coming down harder now, the windshield wipers struggling to keep up.

“We are ten minutes from the shipyard,” Killian said.

“Is the council all there?” Aries asked.

“Six of the seven,” Killian replied. “They are waiting for Vancamp’s confirmation.”

“They will get it,” Aries said. “But not the kind they expect.”

He turned to look at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“You should stay in the car, Sienna,” he said.

“No,” I said, holding the unraveled lining in my lap. “They will say the evidence is forged. They will say you wrote it yourself.”

I looked down at my hands, still grey with the dust of the slate floor from my shop.