M reached the city vault through the east side of the financial district.
The building did not look like a place that held dangerous things. It had tinted glass, quiet doors, and a lobby with pale stone floors. A florist occupied the space on one side. A private dental clinic was on the other. People walked past with coffee, laptop bags, and no reason to look twice.
That was why it worked.
M stopped at the corner before crossing the street. The old envelope sat inside the inner pocket of their coat, flat against the body. It held a card, a company name, and the kind of authorization that should have expired years ago but had not.
Meridian Lane Holdings.
Michael had said only enough on the call to make the meaning clear. Old company papers. Restricted item. Before evening.
He had not said please.
And the reason was clear the favor that Michael had done was to be repaid.
