“We don’t know,” he said.
Clara’s chin trembled. “People say that when they mean yes.”
“I say yes when I mean yes.”
She stared at him.
He continued, “I don’t know. But I am going to find out.”
“Why?”
The question struck harder than it should have.
Why?
Because the men had walked into his city and taken children through streets he controlled.
Because one of his companies had once transported cargo for Bright Harbor, and he had not asked what was behind sealed doors.
Because years ago, a boy had been sentenced by Judge Price while Silas had protected his own interests and called it business.
Because a little girl had looked at him in a diner and asked him to become something he had never been.
He said, “Because your father was right.”
“About what?”
Silas looked at the silver moon charm on the table.
“About finding a wolf who hates cages.”
By sunrise, Silas Arden began a war without declaring one.
He canceled the senator’s meeting. He froze accounts under five shell companies before their owners knew he had found them. He sent three of his quietest people to the municipal vehicle depot. He sent Mara to locate Detective Lena Ortiz. He sent Eli into the servers of Northline Child Services with instructions not to be elegant, only fast.
Then he called a meeting of his board.
Not the public board that appeared on charity invitations.
The real one.
Six people arrived at the top floor of an empty club in downtown Los Angeles. By day, the club looked pathetic: covered chairs, dark chandeliers, a bar with no music to flatter it. By night, powerful men had laughed there over bottles worth more than a teacher’s salary. Silas had hated the place for years and kept it because hatred was not a business reason.
Anton Vale arrived first, his silver beard trimmed, his suit perfect. He had been with Silas since the old days, when survival had required blood and loyalty had required proof.
Then came Celia Rook, who handled lawyers.
Then Marcus Gant, who handled money.
Then Theo Crane, who handled ports.
Then two others who handled things they never named.
Silas placed the printed evidence on the table.
No one touched it.
Anton read the top page and sighed.
“You should have brought this privately.”
“I did,” Silas said.
“You brought us all here.”
“That is private. For now.”
Celia’s eyes moved quickly over the documents. “Callum Price is not a street problem. He has judges, donors, federal friends. This is not something we solve by being frightening.”
“I am not asking you to solve it.”
Marcus Gant leaned back. “Then why are we here?”
Silas placed a photograph in the center of the table.
It showed a van parked behind a warehouse at night. A child stood near the open doors with a blanket around his shoulders. His face was blurred by motion, but his fear was unmistakable.
“Because some of our routes were used,” Silas said.
Theo Crane looked up sharply. “Without authorization.”
Silas stared at him.
Theo swallowed.
Anton folded his hands. “Silas, listen carefully. If you expose this, you expose our infrastructure. The city will burn through every company we have. Prosecutors will not separate what we knew from what we should have known.”
“Good.”
The word landed like a glass breaking.
Marcus laughed once, thinking Silas had made a dark joke.
Silas did not smile.
Celia whispered, “You are risking everything for one child.”
Silas thought of Clara standing in his kitchen asking if her father was dead.
“No,” he said. “For all the ones who did not find a diner.”
Anton’s face hardened. “Do not become sentimental.”
Silas leaned forward.
Every person at the table went still.
“Choose another word.”
Anton held his gaze for a long moment.
Then he looked away.
The meeting broke into arguments. Lawyers spoke of exposure. Money men spoke of containment. Port men spoke of plausible deniability. Everyone spoke in clean language, because clean language was how powerful people washed blood from their hands without touching water.
Silas let them talk.
Then Mara entered.
She had blood on her sleeve.
Clara was beside her.
Silas stood so quickly his chair hit the floor.
“She’s fine,” Mara said. “The safe house was hit. We moved before they entered.”
Clara ran to Silas.
He froze when she wrapped both arms around him.
He had been shot once in the shoulder and once in the leg. He had been stabbed under the ribs. He had broken his hand against a man’s jaw and kept fighting.
Nothing had ever made him as afraid as that child holding on to him.
He lowered one hand to her back.
Only one.
As if two would admit too much.
Mara looked at the table. “They had the address.”
Silas’s eyes lifted slowly.
Everyone at the table understood at once.
There was a leak.
Anton Vale stood. “Careful.”
Silas looked at his oldest friend.
“I am being careful.”