Chapter 5

The air in the Lane Shipping office tasted of ozone and damp rot—the scent of a dying institution. Vane didn't knock. He stepped over the threshold, his charcoal suit a clinical, expensive contrast to the dust-caked ledgers lining the walls. Behind him, two security contractors gripped the door frame, their presence a silent threat to dismantle the room piece by piece.

"The manifest, Elias," Vane said, his voice a smooth, practiced rasp. "The redevelopment auction starts in three hours. My clients don't appreciate delays caused by sentimentality. Hand over the physical ledger, and we can pretend this tax audit never happened."

Aunt Clara stood by the antique sewing machine, her knuckles white. She looked at Elias, searching for a crack in his composure. There were none. Elias remained seated behind the scarred mahogany desk, his hand resting flat atop a thick, leather-bound volume.

"The physical ledger is paper, Vane. It burns, it tears, and it’s easily forged. That’s why you’re here, isn't it? To make sure the 1994 discrepancies vanish before the hammer falls tonight." Elias tapped the desk. "I digitized the manifest an hour ago. It’s on a federal server now. You aren't seizing a ledger; you’re walking into a federal obstruction charge."

Vane’s expression didn't flicker, but his hand tightened around his phone. He retreated into the hallway, leaving the office in a heavy, dust-moted silence. Elias didn’t wait. He cracked the ledger open. The spine groaned like a dry bone.

"Clara," Elias said, his voice dro

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