Chapter 2 - The Audit of Shadows
Dakota spent Friday evening in her mother’s small apartment in Pilsen. The smell of boiled chicken and rubbing alcohol hung in the air. Her mother, Mary, sat in a reclining chair, her swollen legs propped up on three pillows, the portable dialysis machine humming rhythmically beside her.
"How was work, Kota?" Mary asked, her voice raspy from decades of factory air.
"It was quiet, Ma," Dakota lied softly, setting down a plastic bag full of groceries. "Just some reorganization at the office. They’re trimming the fat."
She smiled at her own dark joke, pulled a chair up to the kitchen counter, and opened her personal laptop. Harrison Financial had been cordoned off by federal agents three hours after Dakota left, but she had backed up the entire server onto an encrypted external hard drive eighteen days ago. She didn't need their offices. She had the raw data.
For four hours, Dakota worked in the dim light of the kitchen. She traced the money flow through shell corporations with names like Blue Harbor Logistics and Aegis Holdings. It wasn't just skimming; it was a systematic, highly sophisticated siphon. Whoever was doing it knew Gabriel Moretti’s operational schedule down to the minute.
At midnight, her phone rang. The screen displayed a blocked number.
"Miss Gallagher," a voice rumbled. It was deep, dark, and smooth as molten obsidian.
Dakota didn't flinch. She took a sip of lukewarm chamomile tea. "You're calling late, Mr. Moretti. Don't you have gym reps to finish?"
There was a long silence on the line. She could hear the quiet clink of ice in a glass on his end.
"The docks," Gabriel said, ignoring her jab. "How did you know it was the dock crew?"
"Because your shell company in Panama paid twenty-two thousand dollars for marine fuel on a vessel that was dry-docked in Mobile, Alabama, for repairs," Dakota replied instantly. "Your dock foreman, Thomas Vance, buys three boxes of Cuban cigars a week from an importer in Miami. He pays for them using an account registered to a dead plumber in Berwyn. Do you want me to keep going, or do you want to hire an accountant who fits into a size four?"
Gabriel breathed slowly through his nose. "I am outside your building."
Dakota paused, looking out the kitchen window. Through the rain-streaked glass, she saw a long, black armored SUV idling at the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the yellow streetlights.
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"My mother is sleeping," Dakota said, her voice dropping into a hard, protective register. "If your men make a sound on these stairs, I will wipe your Panama servers remotely before they reach the second landing."
"Come down alone," Gabriel commanded. "Or I come up."
