The dossier on Haven Springs lay printed on Stella’s coffee table, the pages stark in the lamplight. The financial veneer was flawless: a registered Canadian non-profit, pristine audits, testimonials from grateful families. It was a masterpiece of plausible deniability.
Hunter’s voice, tinny through the encrypted satellite link on her laptop, cut through her analysis. “The property records show it’s owned by a numbered British Columbia company. That company’s sole director is a law firm in Zurich. A dead end on paper.”
“But not on the ground,” Stella said, tracing a line on a topographical map of the remote Kootenay region. “Access?”
“Single private road. Gate with biometrics. Airspace restricted. Standard for a high-end privacy retreat.” His tone was matter-of-fact, the sound of a tact
