The cityscape beyond my window was a sprawling circuit board of light, each point a potential connection or a dead end. I had spent the morning mapping out the Cayman lead, my mind sharp, focused, every detail of the financial web Charles had woven laid out in a new document on my laptop. The revenge was taking shape, becoming a tangible plan instead of a burning desire. It felt clean. It felt right.
A soft knock echoed through the door, a sound so out of place in the controlled silence of my rooms that it instantly set me on edge. I closed the laptop, the click of the lid final and sharp.
"Come in."
The door opened, but it wasn't a member of the staff. It was Maya. She stood in the threshold, a fragile figure swallowed by the expensive frame of the doorway. The morning light caught in her dark hair, but it did nothing to warm the haunted expression in her eyes. She clutched a small, silk handbag to her chest as if it were a shield.
