The fragility had a name: Jerzy, the former Inkwell accountant.
Piotr Zalewski had kept him on for the transition. "He knows where all the bodies are buried," Piotr had said.
Jerzy was sixty-five, meticulous, and terrified of change. He also, according to my Ecosystem Awareness, was the cracked thread.
The feeling was vague. A sense of financial opacity, a hidden liability.
I had Kasia book a train ticket to Krakow. I needed to see the books in person.
The Inkwell office was quiet. Jerzy's domain was a back room full of filing cabinets and the sharp smell of ozone from an old printer.
He looked up as I entered, his eyes wide behind thick glasses. "A- Alex Thorn. I wasn't expecting... I have the quarterly reports ready for next week—"
"I want to see the ledger for the Świtanie translation deal," I said, cutting him off. "The grimdark series that flopped."
His face paled. "Of course. It's... it's all there. The contracts, the payments..."
