Chapter 11 - ECHOES IN THE LEDGER
The rain had long since stopped, but the dampness clung to the stone walls of the old archive room beneath the municipal records office like an old habit. Dominic Shaw sat at a scarred oak table, the single green-shaded desk lamp casting sharp shadows across his face. Before him lay a leather-bound book—not Thomas Vance’s original ledger, but a modern facsimile containing every shell company, numbered bank account, and dormant asset Ronan had left scattered across three continents.
"They’re moving money again," a voice broke the silence.
Maren stepped out from the shadows near the shelving units. She was taller now, her oversized jacket replaced by a sharp, dark wool coat, though the watchful, predatory stillness in her amber eyes hadn't changed an inch. She tossed a thick manila folder onto the table.
"Which syndicate?" Dominic asked, not looking up from the columns of figures.
"Not the old families," Maren replied, leaning against the edge of the table. "A new player. Someone calling themselves the Ouroboros Syndicate. They’re buying up the warehouses along the eastern freight rail—the exact properties Ronan tried to sign over to the cartel before we cleared the boardroom."
Dominic closed the ledger with a quiet thud. "They think the chair is empty because I stepped out of it."
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"They think you went soft," Maren corrected, a thin, sharp smile touching her lips. "They forgot that an empire doesn't vanish just because the king stops bleeding in an alley."
Outside, General let out a low, vibrating growl from his post by the heavy iron door. Someone was in the stairwell. Someone who knew the access codes.
