"Even silence has a price, if you know where to trade it."
I used to think sound was proof of life. The hum of cameras, the applause, Elias's laughter echoing through glass halls. Now I understand that silence can be louder—sharper, more exacting.
That night, I walked into the district beneath Valmere's theatre quarter where the true economy of fame lives. No red carpets here—only corridors perfumed with dust and electronic heat, and the whisper of contracts spoken, never written.
A man waited for me inside a café that hadn't served coffee in years. His suit was old but pressed; his eyes, new but tired.
"You're looking for who bankrolled The Glass Boy," he said without preamble.
"I'm looking for the rot that killed my husband."
He smiled, not kindly. "Rot doesn't kill, Mrs. Vale. It feeds."
He offered me a ledger—thin, digital, almost translucent. "Names cost," he said.
"I've already paid." I placed a coin on the table—an antique gold coin stamped with an insignia only certain people would recognize. The smile froze on his mouth.
"Ah," he whispered, "that family."
"Yes."
He nodded once, slid the ledger toward me, and left without looking back.
Inside, I found familiar signatures hidden in shells of offshore accounts. Among them, one shimmered brighter—Cassian Industries. The same name I'd heard from my husband's last frightened phone call.
The lights flickered. A second phone—one I had not brought—vibrated under the table. When I lifted it, a single message glowed:
You're not alone, Maya.
I left the café, the city air thick with smoke and memory. Someone was watching from a parked car; I didn't need to see the face to know the watcher belonged to us. My family's reach had always been quiet, but it moved faster than law.
For the first time since Elias died, I felt a tremor of safety—cold, metallic, and fleeting.
That night I dreamt of the sea near my mother-in-law's house, waves folding over themselves like erased voices. In the dream, Elias stood on the shore, turning toward me as if to speak, but his mouth filled with gold dust.
When I woke, the ledger's data was already copied onto my home screen, as though the phone had been waiting for me to open my eyes.