Aldric didn't sleep.
He stood alone in Fox's secured study while Xylanthia drifted toward morning, jacket off, sleeves rolled, tie loosened just enough to signal intent. The room had been transformed overnight—screens lined the walls, a central holo-table pulsing with data, legal filings hovering beside financial ledgers like ghosts refusing to stay buried.
This was no longer analysis.
This was execution.
Aldric tapped the table once. The system responded instantly, zooming in on a dense knot of transactions.
"There you are," he murmured.
Not the mastermind—never that easy—but the hand that moved when the order came down.
He isolated a financial conduit buried beneath three shell entities and a charitable trust. Clean on the surface. Apolitical. Philanthropic. Untouchable to anyone not looking at timing instead of numbers.
Aldric smiled thinly.
"Charity doesn't move money two hours after sealed injunctions," he said to the empty room. "Only fear does."
He overlaid the legal calendar.
Three upcoming motions. Two procedural delays. One emergency appeal—already drafted but not yet filed.
Predictable.
Too predictable.
Aldric adjusted the projection, running probability threads forward.
"If I'm them," he said quietly, "I pressure the court first, then the witnesses, then the defendant. Legal noise to mask intent."
He paused.
"But if I'm arrogant…" his fingers moved again, "…I assume no one notices the hinge."
The hinge appeared on the table: a mid-level compliance officer tied to a private arbitration council. Not powerful. Not visible.
But central.
Aldric straightened.
"That's you," he said softly. "The first layer."
Fox entered without announcing himself. He took one look at the table and understood immediately.
"You found someone."
"I found the necessary someone," Aldric replied. "The kind people step over because they don't look dangerous."
Fox folded his arms. "And your move?"
Aldric finally turned to him.
"I force him to choose."
By mid-morning, Aldric had already made three quiet calls.
Not threats.
Not bribes.
Questions.
The kind that make professionals uneasy because answering them incorrectly can end careers without anyone ever raising their voice.
He filed a motion of his own—harmless on paper. A jurisdictional clarification request tied to Fox's son's case. Nothing aggressive.
But the timing was lethal.
It landed exactly forty minutes before the arbitration council's internal review meeting.
Aldric leaned back as the notification confirmed receipt.
"Now," he said calmly, "they panic."
Fox frowned. "Because?"
"Because I've just signaled awareness without accusation. That tells the network one thing: someone competent is watching, and he's patient."
He brought up a live feed—financial movement spiking.
"There," Aldric pointed. "See the micro-shift? Funds reallocated too quickly. That's damage control."
Fox's eyes narrowed. "You're squeezing without touching."
"That's how you make them move on their own."
The meeting room was glass and steel, perched high above the city. Neutral ground. Supposedly.
Aldric arrived alone.
Across the table sat Marwen Hale—compliance officer, arbitration council liaison, immaculate suit, tired eyes. A man who had spent his life believing he was invisible.
Until now.
Aldric didn't sit immediately. He placed a thin folder on the table instead.
"I won't insult you by pretending this is routine," Aldric said calmly. "So let's skip to the part where you decide how this ends."
Marwen's jaw tightened. "I don't know what you think—"
"You rerouted discretionary arbitration authority through a nonprofit shell on six occasions," Aldric interrupted, voice even. "Each time preceding judicial pressure against a specific defendant. You did not initiate these actions. You executed them."
Silence.
Aldric finally sat.
"This isn't a criminal accusation," he continued. "Not yet. It's a question of ethics. You can remain a mechanism… or become a witness."
Marwen exhaled sharply. "You don't understand what you're stepping into."
"I understand perfectly," Aldric replied. "You're protecting a system that convinces decent people they're not responsible because they're 'not at the top.'"
He slid the folder forward.
"Inside is a timeline. If I submit it, your career ends quietly. If someone else submits it, you become the fall guy."
Marwen's voice dropped. "And if I talk?"
Aldric met his gaze, unblinking.
"Then you get to choose who you are when this is over."
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Minutes passed.
Finally, Marwen whispered, "They don't give orders directly."
Aldric nodded. "They never do."
"There's… a legal consultancy," Marwen continued. "They frame 'risk advisories.' Everyone follows them because they're never wrong."
Aldric's eyes sharpened.
"Names."
Marwen hesitated—then spoke.
Aldric didn't react outwardly, but inside, the board shifted.
So that's the voice behind the curtain.
Later that night, Aldric stood back in Fox's compound, staring at the updated network map. One layer stripped away. Not destroyed—revealed.
Fox watched him carefully. "You could've crushed him."
"Yes," Aldric said. "But then the others would've gone silent."
He zoomed out, revealing a far larger structure still intact.
"This way," he continued, "they know I'm not reckless. And they know I'm not bluffing."
Fox's voice was low. "What does that make this move?"
Aldric smiled faintly.
"A warning shot wrapped in mercy."
He shut the system down and finally picked up his jacket.
"They'll respond," he said. "Probably within forty-eight hours. Legal pressure. Character attacks. Maybe even an offer."
Fox raised an eyebrow. "And you?"
"I'll let them think they're escalating."
Aldric paused at the door.
"Then I'll show them what happens when law is used the way it was meant to be—precisely, relentlessly, and without fear."
Behind him, the board waited.
And somewhere higher up the chain, someone had just realized the game was no longer safe.