The room smelled like ozone and old leather, the kind of cold, controlled luxury Davin preferred. Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooked the city, its lights distant and indifferent. Rafael stood alone in the center of the office, his breathing uneven, his pulse loud in his ears.

The laptop sat open on the desk.

Davin’s laptop.

Lines of code glowed on the screen—financial tunnels, offshore transfers, shell companies stacked inside shell companies. It was elegant. Brutal. A masterpiece of legal violence.

Rafael stared at it, hands trembling.

“So this is how you do it,” he muttered. “Quietly. Like God doesn’t exist.”

He hadn’t planned to lose control. He had come here to copy...