*Rowan*
The club never truly slept, but behind the walls of my office, I made sure the night obeyed me.
Rafe stood by the corner, arms folded, eyes flicking between Nolan's tablet and my desk where maps, financial printouts, and a single photo of Victor Roush stared back at me like an open insult.
Nolan's voice was even, calm, but I could see the tension in his jaw. “Victor's laundering channels changed last week. He's clearing the Prague account, diverting funds through an old contact in Lisbon. It's textbook cleanup, he's covering his footprints faster than we can chase them."
Rafe grunted. “He's not afraid. That's the problem."
“He should be."
I traced a finger along the map's edge, Lisbon to Prague to here. A neat little circle that had dared to brush Harper's life. That was his
