Ronan didn't sleep that night either.
He sat alone in his apartment, the city lights blinking steadily beyond the window, and thought about Ivy's face on the terrace, the way her voice had shaken when she said the words Monroe Textiles out loud for the first time. He thought about his father's careful questions that afternoon, questions asked like a man who already knew the answer and only wanted to watch someone else discover it too late.
By morning, he'd made a decision. He needed to see the file himself.
He went into the office before sunrise, before anyone else arrived, and pulled open the old metal cabinet in the corner of his office, the one his father trusted more than any computer system. He found the folder easily, exactly where Ivy must have found it weeks ago, faded blue ink
