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Kane sent a wooden trunk. The big, metal wrapped thing appeared one day in his rooms, along with a message that it was the contents of Sasha’s father's safe and not to open it yet.

She was pleased he’d kept his word.

But the thing sat there like a portent of something ugly to come. She had once eagerly anticipated revisiting the unique recipes that had made her father's pub famous. Their bottled gin sold well in the markets of the better sectors. She had fond memories of washing, filling, and sealing glass bottles for her dad to take with him for selling.

He'd talked about licensing fees, material costs, and transporting problems, and he blamed it all on Administration holding him down. They couldn't handle enough bulk product to make it cost effective. She had dreamed with her father, and when he was gone, she’d dreamed with the drones who were her family—that one day, they would thrive.

Now she wondered what he had left out of his tirades. What had he not said about his dreams for expansion? She thought he meant for her to work alongside him, but her conversation with Kane had shaken that belief.

There was more in that safe than just recipes. Her father kept logs and journals. He had shown them to her. He’d started in his school and military days and never gave up the habit. There was a very good chance that those accounts