Michael opened the door with a smile still on his face.
Silas Vane stood in the hallway without an escort beside him. That alone said enough. Men like Silas did not come personally unless the matter had moved past messages, lawyers, and people paid to carry polite threats.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
The apartment behind Michael was quiet. The living room light was on, the kitchen counter still had an open bottle of water on it, and the jacket he had worn to the recorded interview lay across the back of a chair. Outside the door, Silas looked as composed as always, but Michael knew better now. The package had reached Warren. Silas had moved. That was why he was here.
"You came yourself," Michael said.
"I did."
Michael stepped aside. "Then come in."
