"He knows," Michael said when the line connected.
Silas Vane was reviewing a shipping manifest in his London office. He held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and did not stop reading. "Knows what? Be specific."
"Everything." Michael's voice carried a flatness that Silas had learned to distrust. It meant the man had already been rattled and was now pretending he hadn't been. "He knows there are four of you. He knows you're the ones holding my leash. And he knows—he made it very clear—that if I leak anything about Luna or the child, he will return the favor. Except his files aren't gossip. They're evidence. Corruption, back-channel deals, the kind of thing that doesn't just embarrass you in a boardroom. It puts you in one with bars on the windows."
Silas set the manifest down. He swiveled his chair away from the desk and faced the window. Outside, the Thames moved like it had nowhere important to be.
