Three weeks pass before the mysterious message resurfaces in any meaningful way, and when it does, it arrives through Yusuf instead of directly.
"Someone's been asking about you," she says, when Talia and I visit the bookshop on a quiet afternoon. "Careful questions, routed through channels I don't usually see used. Whoever's asking knows exactly how to stay untraceable."
"Helena Meridian," Talia says.
"Possibly. Or someone working for her, someone even more careful than she's already proven to be." Yusuf slides a folded note across the counter. "This came through an intermediary two days ago. Payment for delivery only, no explanation attached."
I open it carefully. A single line, handwriting elegant and deliberate.
*The five firms were never the foundation. They were the visible surf
