Chapter 8

The air in the Lane shipping office tasted of ozone and pulverized paper. Elias stepped inside, his boots crunching on a fine, white snow of shredded documents. The tax enforcement team moved with the cold efficiency of a firing squad, their machines humming as they systematically erased the 1994 manifest.

Clara stood by the mahogany desk, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge. She didn't look at him; her eyes were locked on the lead auditor, a man whose thin, colorless lips were curled in a practiced sneer.

"The seizure order is absolute, Mr. Lane," the auditor said, not bothering to stop the shredder. "By dawn, this office will be a shell. We’re just expediting the process."

Elias didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. He pulled the federal seal from his coat—a heavy, cold weight of authority—and slammed it onto the desk. The sound silenced the room. "The Port Authority tender is under federal oversight. Every page you destroy is a felony count against your department. Stop."

The auditor froze, his hand hovering over the shredder’s feed. He looked at the seal, then at Elias, his confidence flickering. "You’re playing a dangerous game, Lane. The people who ordered this audit don't care about federal paperwork."

"Then they won't

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