The word her mother almost said is still in the room when I walk out of it.
Not just heir. Family. A fourteen year old who is, by the blood logic of Constantine Marre's lineage, my half sibling. A child registered to a criminal network before they were old enough to understand what a network was, managed by Anton Reves, held as legal insurance in a structure designed by an old man who confused ownership with love and never learned the difference.
I walk to the operations room because I need a table and a screen and something concrete to do with the information before it becomes too large to work with.
I pull up everything we have on the heir registration. The code. The authorized representative designation. The fifteen year timeline. I sit with it for twenty minutes, building the pictur
