Chapter 26 #2
He’s not stupid. Just impulsive. That’s always been the problem.
Lev Makarov has a mouth full of jokes and a coat pocket full of teeth he knocked out himself.
Cleanup crew, demolition specialist, chaos containment.
He’s the guy you call when your plan goes to hell, and you want to blow the evidence sky high.
But he’s never cared about civilians. Let alone ones I’ve marked as unstable.
So when he says too casually, “I added two more cameras. One over the northeast hallway exit, the other tucked behind the brochure rack near the staff-only door. Just in case someone tries to get clever on her walk to the break room,” it knocks the rhythm right out of my pulse.
I study him. “Since when do you care if someone takes her out?”
He shrugs again. Doesn’t look up. “I don’t. But I don’t like watching people walk into traps with their eyes open. Makes me itchy.”
“Bullshit.”
“Or maybe I’m just curious about what she does next.” He tears another bite of his sandwich. “And if she dies before I find out, that’s just bad storytelling.”
Before I can answer, the door chime rings.
Boris.
Great. Because apparently, my location is public knowledge now.
Lev spots him, perks up, and waves him over like we’re short one player for a game.
Boris has his hoodie zipped to the neck despite the heat. Face pale and underfed. He looks like he hasn’t slept in three days, and that’s not far from the truth. He doesn’t go anywhere without knowing every angle of the room, the backup exit, and how fast he can hijack a feed if things go sideways.
He scans the diner once. Pauses just long enough to make sure no one’s watching too closely. Then walks over and slides into the booth beside Lev.
“Boris,” Lev says around another bite of sandwich. “You look cheerful. Someone die?”
“Not yet.” Boris slides a battered tablet out of his backpack and sets it on the table. Screen already lit, feed already live. Mary’s desk. Clean shot. Clear audio. And next to it, a secondary window displaying a list of recent employee badge scans. “But I found your boy Caleb Whitfield.”
My spine straightens. “And?”
“Regional Vice President, Southwest Division. Youngest in the bank’s history.” Boris taps the screen. “Also Timofey’s old college roommate. NYU Stern. Same dorm, same year.”
The pieces click together with an almost audible snap.
“Roommates,” I repeat.
“Gets better,” Boris continues, completely deadpan. “Uncle owns a chunk of Brightside National. Legacy donor family. Caleb’s been fast-tracked since graduation, and guess who’s been making very quiet, very specific transaction requests through the Vegas branch for the past eighteen months?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer.
“Your golden boy, Timofey. Everything runs through Caleb’s direct authorization. Clean codes, nothing that screams money laundering.”
Lev stops chewing. “Well, shit.”
I lean back, letting this settle. Timofey’s been using his college buddy to launder money through legitimate banking channels. Clean, smart, almost impossible to trace unless you know exactly where to look.
“How much?” I ask.
“Couple million, spread across multiple accounts. Nothing big enough to trigger federal attention. Just… persistent.” Boris scrolls through something on the tablet.
“And here’s the interesting part: the timing matches up perfectly with Viktor’s skimming.
Almost like someone was covering tracks before anyone noticed they were there. ”
My eyelid twitches again. Not from stress this time.
From satisfaction.
“So Timofey sets up Viktor to take the fall for theft, while he’s been moving real money through his college roommate’s bank.
” The pattern unfolds clean as origami. “Viktor gets disappeared, Timofey looks like the hero who helped catch the thief, and meanwhile, he’s been bleeding the operation dry through legitimate channels. ”
Boris taps the screen again. Pulls up Mary’s employee file.
“Bingo,” Boris says. “And your girl Mary? She’s got access to the exact system Caleb’s been using to process these transactions. Same one Dave Thornton uses for his daily operations. Except now she’s flagged as someone who’s seen things she shouldn’t have.”
That’s why they want her gone. Not because she’s a loose end. Because she’s proof.
Suddenly, Mary isn’t just bait anymore.
She’s evidence.
I exhale slowly. Then push my empty coffee cup away.
“What do you want to do?” Boris asks.
I check the time. Glance at Mary’s screen. She’s typing something.
“Dima picks her up after her shift. To take her grocery shopping. Boris, I want to see if she’s being followed. You stay on the feed. See who blinks.”
Boris looks up at me. “Grocery shopping?”
Lev perks up. “Ooh. This just keeps getting better.”
“She needs to restock,” I say. “She mentioned it yesterday.”
It sounds ridiculous. I hear it. Hell, I feel it leave my mouth like a confession. But I push through.
“She can’t be eating out. People want her dead. Routine makes her a target. Controlled environments only.”
Boris stares. Like he’s waiting for me to admit I’m joking.
“And swing by her apartment,” I add. “Pick up her herb boxes from the balcony.”
“Herbs?” Boris says.
“Yeah. Basil. Mint. Something green. Just don’t kill them.”
Lev grins. “Or I could take her. Make it a date. I’ve been told I have excellent cart etiquette.”
I shoot him a look sharp enough to gut a man. “You’re coming with me to the Mirage. You think I’d leave you alone with her?”
He raises his sandwich in surrender. “Hey. I do great in grocery stores.”
Boris just rolls his eyes.
I lean back in the booth. The Mirage meeting is tomorrow. I still don’t have a body to pin the theft on. Still don’t have a clean way to expose Timofey without painting myself guilty by proximity.
But at least now I know the name of the man smiling behind the curtain.
Caleb fucking Whitfield.
And soon, he’ll know mine.