The tension in the safe house was unbearable.
Damien worked at one end of the table, methodically organizing the documents he'd retrieved from Europe. Adrien worked at the other end, coordinating with journalists and prosecutors. And I sat between them, feeling like a live wire stretched too tight.
No one spoke unless absolutely necessary.
"These financial records," Damien said, his voice flat and professional, "show the money trail from Brighton's shell companies to the weapons manufacturers. Dates match the Riverside timeline."
"Good," Adrien said without looking up. "I'll include those in the federal prosecutor's packet."
"The Madrid recordings have timestamps. They can be verified against phone records."
"Noted."
That was it. Clipped. Efficient. Completely devoid of any emotion.
Mom appeared in the doorway, leaning on the frame. She'd been getting stronger each day, her memory continuing to return in fragments.
"How's it going?" she asked.
