Chapter Four #2
He was one of the few outsiders permitted into meetings at this level, and even then only for specific portions.
Mid-forties, perhaps, polished without looking flashy, dark hair touched with gray, tailored navy suit, no visible nervousness despite entering a room full of men who had ordered or committed murders.
Taddeo disliked him immediately when they'd first met six months ago.
The dislike had never developed into anything concrete.
Silas was too helpful for that.
“Sorry,” he murmured as he took the empty chair near Orsino. “The Harbor Federal people ran long.”
Cesare gestured toward the file. “Tell them what you found.”
Silas opened the portfolio and removed several sheets.
“The eight point four fragmented almost immediately after leaving the primary holding environment.
That isn't unusual by itself. The problem is the next layer.” He placed one page near the center of the table and leaned forward, using a capped pen to indicate a sequence of entities.
“Three receiving accounts were created within forty-eight hours of one another, different jurisdictions, different named managers, but the formation documents share one administrator.”
Taddeo followed the line.
“Who?”
“A corporate services firm in Delaware. Legitimate on paper.” Silas shifted the page toward him. “They handle hundreds of clients. We can't assume direct knowledge.”
Lelio leaned in. “Can you get the names?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually isn't helpful.”
Silas smiled politely. “Unfortunately, banks remain stubbornly committed to process.”
“Banks are committed to whoever scares them enough.”
“Sometimes.” Silas recapped the pen. “But frightening the wrong institution tends to create attention we don't need.”
Cesare gave Lelio a brief look that ended the discussion.
Taddeo kept reading.
Silas continued before anyone asked the next question. “The other issue is sequencing. The money didn't move like a theft designed purely for cash extraction. Portions loop through development and shipping vehicles before disappearing offshore.”
Taddeo looked up.
Silas was already explaining.
“There are several reasons someone might do that. Layering. Concealment. An attempt to create legitimate basis for later movement.”
“You don't know which,” Taddeo said.
Silas paused.
“No.”
Taddeo leaned back.
There it was again.
Silas had a habit of getting ahead of questions, filling silence before anyone requested explanation. Most people thought that made him thorough.
Taddeo thought it made him difficult to read.
Orsino glanced at Taddeo briefly, as though recognizing the same reaction.
Cesare closed the folder. “Keep tracing it.”
Silas nodded. “I will.”
“And nothing leaves this group.”
“Understood.”
The meeting continued for another forty minutes.
Crew reports. Collections. A shipping delay on the south docks.
A construction inspection that needed political attention rather than money.
Ordinary Bellandi business layered around an extraordinary problem until the theft became one more entry in a system designed to absorb crises without showing strain.
Taddeo spoke when necessary and listened more often.
Lelio pushed twice for stronger pressure on Corwin's contacts.
Taddeo rejected both suggestions.
By the time the meeting ended, the rain had intensified against the club's front windows downstairs.
Orsino caught Taddeo near the private stairwell.
“You're irritated.”
Taddeo continued buttoning his coat. “I had noticed.”
“Not with Lelio.”
“With Lelio too.”
“That part is obvious.”
Taddeo looked at him.
Orsino adjusted his cuffs with maddening calm. “The girl.”
“Isolde.”
“See? Already correcting me.”
“Her name is Isolde.”
“So I've gathered.”
Taddeo started down the stairs.
Orsino followed.
“She asked one good question,” Taddeo said.
“I didn't say otherwise.”
“She may have information Corwin gave her without context.”
“Also possible.”
Taddeo stopped on the landing. “What are you doing?”
Orsino's face remained mild. “Walking downstairs.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He rested one hand on the banister. “You're explaining yourself when I didn't ask for an explanation.”
Taddeo stared at him.
Orsino's mouth curved faintly.
“I'll stop now.”
“Good.”
They descended the remaining stairs.
Taddeo's phone vibrated before he reached the coat room.
Northglass security.
He answered immediately.
“What happened?”
Marco DeLuca's voice came through the line. “Nothing happened.”
Taddeo slowed.
Marco knew better than to call him during a Bellandi meeting unless something required attention.
“Then why are you calling?”
A pause.
“Ms. Dacre has spent most of the morning outside.”
Taddeo pushed through the private exit and stopped beneath the awning while rain struck the pavement beyond it.
“Outside where?”
“East terrace, south gardens, lower lawn. She hasn't crossed a restricted point.”
“What is she doing?”
Marco hesitated again.
That hesitation told Taddeo the answer before he heard it.
“Walking.”
“Marco.”
“She isn't just walking.”
Taddeo closed his eyes briefly.
“Tell me.”
“She keeps changing routes. Stops near cameras without looking directly at them. She checked the north garden path twice. She's been watching shift changes from the upstairs windows.”
Rainwater ran in narrow streams along the curb.
Orsino appeared behind him beneath the awning and waited without pretending he couldn't hear.
Taddeo rubbed one thumb slowly over the edge of his phone.
“How long?”
“Since around seven.”
He looked out toward Crownport's wet streets.
Isolde had been at Northglass less than twelve hours.
She was already mapping the perimeter.
A reluctant, deeply inconvenient respect moved through him.
“Don't stop her.”
Marco sounded surprised. “Sir?”
“Let her look.”
“And if she gets close to the boundary?”
“Then you intervene.”
Taddeo stepped toward the waiting car as Luca opened the rear door.
“Quietly.”
He ended the call.
Orsino remained beneath the awning, watching him.
“What?”
Orsino's smile deepened slightly. “Nothing.”
Taddeo got into the car.
As Luca pulled away from the curb, he looked toward the rain-streaked window and found himself thinking not about Corwin's missing money, or Silas Venn's layered accounts, or Lelio's impatience.
He was thinking about a woman walking the grounds of Northglass and counting cameras.
He should have found that irritating.
Instead, he wanted to know how far she would get.