The elevator ride down to the deep bedrock vault of Zurich felt like sinking into hell, and the cold steel walls offered no comfort. The heavy, metallic bang of the automated security door dropping behind us had cut me off from Lucian, leaving me alone in the dim, red emergency light with a woman who had been dead for six years.
Evelyn stepped toward me, her leather jacket creaking in the silence. The curved tactical knife in her hand caught the crimson glow, its blade reflecting a jagged line across her scarred throat.
"Six years, counselor," she rasped, her damaged voice scraping against my nerves. "Six years of rotting in Mexico while you slept in Tobias’s bed and signed off on the hush money that kept me buried. Did you think a luxury suit and a new wedding ring could wash that blood
