The contracts smelled like ink and cold coffee.
Chris noticed it before anything else—the faint chemical bite on his fingers as he turned another page, the way the paper rasped softly against itself. London was grey outside the windows. Not raining, not bright. That in-between light that made everything feel paused, like the city was holding its breath with him.
“Nothing large,” Derek said, low. “Nothing obvious.”
Chris nodded without looking up. His tie had loosened sometime around noon. He didn’t remember doing it.
“First tranche is split across three shells,” Derek continued. “Cyprus, Luxembourg, and one clean UK vehicle. Old money. Boring money. Exactly the kind no one questions.”
Chris exhaled through his nose. Slow and controlled.
“Amounts?”
“Small enough to be ignored. Big en
