Silas arrived at the clubhouse the following morning with an urgency Wren hadn't seen from him before, spreading a fresh set of documents across the kitchen table with hands that weren't quite steady.
"I found him," he said without preamble. "The client behind the lawyer's shell companies. It took cross referencing four separate transactions, but the pattern finally converged on a single name."
"Who?" Gideon asked, focused attention sharpening immediately.
"A man named Elias Whitfield," Silas said, sliding a printout across the table, a professionally taken photograph of a well dressed man in his fifties with the particular, polished confidence of someone accustomed to operating well above the reach of people like the Ironhawks or the Vultures. "Regional real estate developer. Publicly
