I decided to meet with Steven first, before dealing with the jeweler upstairs.
The ring could wait another hour.
This couldn't.
I took the elevator down to the hotel's private lounge, a space reserved for high-profile guests who needed discretion. Soundproofed. Secure. Perfect for conversations that couldn't be overheard.
Steven Chen was already waiting, sitting in one of the leather chairs with a laptop open on the table in front of him and a thick folder beside it.
He stood when I entered, shaking my hand firmly.
"Mr. Roman."
"Steven. What do you have?"
He gestured to the chair across from him, and we both sat.
"I'll start with the plane crash," he said, pulling up files on his laptop and turning the screen so I could see. "Your father's jet. The official report cited mechanical failure, but I had an independent aviation expert review the wreckage."
He clicked through several photos, twisted metal, burned components, technical diagrams I only half understood.
