"Know where Vincent buries his real dirty secrets too. Three little black sites the government's intel lapdogs haven't sniffed yet. Training camps that'd make Abu Ghraib look like a fucking summer camp arts-and-crafts session." I leaned in, letting the weight settle.
"Dmitri's real business model? But I assume you already know... It's not just moving people. It's parts, sweetie. Organ rings, weapons for any psycho with a hashtag, underage girls delivered like pizza to the corridors of power. Names, dates, video _proof_. Senators who like 'em young. Judges who like 'em quiet. CEOs who like 'em both. Compromised."
I stopped short of handing over my entire ARIA Rolodex, of course. Enough to ignite the fuse; not enough to make me the next exhibit.
"Proof?" Her voice was tight.
