The week moved.

Not quickly, not slowly—just with that steady rhythm that usually meant everyone in the Meridian Development Initiative had finally hit their stride.

From what I saw at Gray & Milton, the legal teams were actually smiling for once. The engineering division said they were ahead of schedule. Even the planning committees—who were usually allergic to optimism—kept throwing around words like "stable," "solid," and "on track."

It was the calm before a big presentation, but calm was still calm.

Meanwhile, Val wasn't calm at all.

She hid it well. She always hid it well. But you can only stay around someone long enough before you learn to hear the tension under the silence—like a second heartbeat that didn't belong there.

And ever since she'd gone to see Lucien, that second heartbeat had been loud.

By the time she got home that evening, I could already tell from how quietly she closed the door behind her that whatever she found—or didn't find—had only made things worse.

I was in the kitchen, finishing up what Aline started earlier because I was bored. Val stepped inside, set her bag down, and leaned her weight against the counter like she needed the marble to hold her up.

I didn't push.

She'd talk. She always did, once the storm sorted itself enough to form words.

It didn't take long.

She exhaled once, slow. "Kai… I need to tell you something."

I wiped my hands on a towel and nodded. "Alright. I'm listening."

She sat on the stool across from me, elbows on the counter, fingers interlocked like she was keeping them from shaking.

"So," she began, "Gianna and I looked through every file Lucien has signed these past several months. Every authorization, every transfer, every departmental update—anything the system would let us access."

"And?" I asked.

"We found nothing," she said. "Nothing with the name Benjamin Otavio. Nothing with Vanguard Ark Investments. Not even something adjacent. It's like they don't exist."

I frowned. "But Trent saw them."

"I know," she said immediately. "And I believe him. But the digital trail? There's nothing. It's clean. Too clean."

I could hear the frustration tucked under every word. Val didn't like "clean." "Clean" meant someone had intentionally swept.

"So what did you find?" I asked.

She hesitated, then reached into her bag and pulled out a printed document—thin, understated, almost forgettable if not for the bold title at the top.

Prometheus Acquisition Index.

I raised an eyebrow. "Prometheus?"

"That's what Gianna found," Val said. "It was buried inside a folder that shouldn't have had anything to do with acquisitions. Wrong department, wrong time stamp, wrong everything."

"And you've never seen it before?"

"Never," she said. "And the firm listed on the document—the one allegedly conducting the valuation? Gianna and I traced it. There's no record of it. Not in our databases. Not in the public registry. Not in historical archives. It's not a shell company—it's nothing. Like it was created just to exist on that one page."

I didn't like that.

Not even a little.

"So… what does the file actually say?" I asked.

"Nothing helpful," she admitted. "It's vague. Extremely vague. The kind of document you'd make if you needed something to look legitimate but didn't want it to be understood."

I stared at the title again.

Prometheus.

The name sounded grand, purposeful, mythic—exactly the sort of thing someone would choose if they wanted to feel powerful while hiding something.

"So," I said slowly, "you think this has something to do with Benjamin Otavio and Vanguard Ark?"

"I think this is the only thing close enough to smell suspicious," she replied. "But I can't prove it. And until I can, I can't walk into my father's office and tell him his son might be signing reckless deals with untraceable parties."

I nodded.

That part made sense.

Charlie George Moreau wasn't exactly the type to take accusations lightly—especially when the accused shared his last name.

"So what's the next step?" I asked.

She looked up at me, and the answer was immediate.

> "Trent."

I blinked. "You want to go see him now?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's late. And you have work tomorrow. I'm not dragging you out for a drive across the city after everything you handled today."

"We planned to go over during the weekend."

"We did," she said. "But that feels too far."

I thought about it and she wasn't wrong.

Even if the Prometheus file meant nothing, it meant something. The fact that it existed without a trail was bad enough.

"Alright," I said. "We'll go tomorrow. After work."

Her shoulders eased just a little. Not relaxed, but less tight—like she could breathe again without it hurting.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"You don't have to thank me," I said quietly. "You're not doing this alone."

She nodded once, firm but tired.

Then she slipped off the stool, walked around the counter, and rested her forehead lightly against my shoulder—not dramatic, not emotional, just grounding herself for a second.

I didn't say anything.

Sometimes silence did the work for you.

---

We had dinner, though I barely remember what we ate. My mind kept circling the name on that file. So did hers—I could tell from how distracted she was when she rinsed her plate.

We cleaned up, went upstairs, changed, came downstairs and ended up sitting on the couch, the TV on but ignored.

Val leaned back, head resting lightly on the cushion, eyes half-focused on the screen.

"You're thinking," I said.

"You're breathing," she shot back automatically, her usual response whenever she got caught overanalyzing.

It made me smile despite the situation.

That was the point of our little routine, lightening things for a second.

"So," I asked, "what's actually bothering you the most? The file? The missing names? Lucien?"

She didn't answer right away.

"Honestly?" she finally said. "It's the silence."

I waited.

"If Lucien was up to something stupid, there should be a pattern," she continued. "An email. A payment trail. A discrepancy in the logs. Something he forgot to hide or something he didn't know how to hide. But there's nothing. Not even a tiny inconsistency. It's like everything he's done in the last three months has been scrubbed clean."

I frowned. "Which means someone else is helping him."

"Or someone is using him," she added softly.

That possibility landed between us like a weight.

"And Prometheus?" I asked.

"It's either the start… or the cover."

Neither option was comforting.

I sat forward a little, elbows resting on my knees. "Val… did Gianna ask you anything?"

She let out a humorless breath. "Of course she did. She's not blind. She asked what we were looking for. I told her two names, nothing else. When we found nothing on them, she asked if something was wrong." She paused. "I told her no."

"You sure she bought it?"

"She believes what I need her to believe," Val said quietly. "And she won't repeat anything until I say so."

That was true. Gianna was loyal to Val first, the company second.

No hesitation. No sugarcoating.

We sat there a while longer, the dialogue from the TV filling the space where our words stopped. Eventually, Val leaned against me—not for comfort, but to signal she was done thinking for the night.

I didn't push more questions.

Didn't recap.

Didn't analyze.

Just let the moment settle.

Because tomorrow, we'd finally be chasing answers instead of shadows.

And something told me we wouldn't like what we found.

Something told me Prometheus wasn't just a name.

It was a warning.

---

By the time we finally made it upstairs and settled into our room, it didn't take long for Val to drift off.

One moment she was lying beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, eyes soft but exhausted—the next, her breathing had already settled into that even rhythm that meant her mind had finally shut down.

I watched her for a moment.

Not out of worry.

Just… to make sure she really was asleep.

She'd had enough spiraling for one night. The last thing she needed was me pacing the room or scrolling through files like a paranoid analyst.

So I slipped out of bed quietly, grabbed my phone from the nightstand, and stepped into the hallway, closing the door halfway so the click wouldn't wake her.

I hesitated for a second, thumb hovering over the screen.

Calling Tasha wasn't exactly on my "things to do at eleven-thirty at night" list. But she knew the financial world better than anyone who wasn't inside Moreau Dynamics—and right now, I needed someone outside.

Someone who wouldn't panic Val further.

I hit call.

She picked up on the second ring.

"Wow," she said, voice amused and just a touch groggy. "Kai Tanaka calling me at almost midnight. Don't tell me you and your wife got into an argument and you're looking for emotional support."

I huffed under my breath. "Hardly."

"Shame," she said. "I give great comfort speeches."

"Yeah," I said. "I'll keep that in mind. But that's not why I called."

"I figured." There was a rustle on her end—probably sitting up. "What's going on?"

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my forehead. "I need your brain for something. Hypothetically."

"Oh, we're doing hypotheticals." Her tone brightened. "This should be good. Go on."

I chose my words carefully.

"Let's say… someone in a company—high up, not the top, but definitely with access—meets with an investment firm. They talk. And shortly after, this someone signs something. A deal. A contract. Whatever."

"Alright…" she said, intrigued.

"And let's say," I continued, "this investment firm looks clean on paper. Like, polished. Too polished. But off-paper? They're known for… questionable acquisitions."

"You mean predatory." Her voice sharpened instantly.

"Potentially," I allowed. "Now, let's also say there's no trace of the meeting in any internal logs. No names. No digital fingerprints. Nothing. Except maybe one file—a vague one—that shows up where it shouldn't."

"Uh-huh." She paused. "And what are you trying not to say, Kai?"

I leaned against the wall, lowering my voice even though Val was asleep.

"That maybe… someone signed something they shouldn't have. And they might not even understand what it actually does."

Silence stretched for two seconds.

Then Tasha let out a slow, low whistle. "And you're calling me because you want to know just how bad that could be."

"Pretty much."

"Well," she said, "if the investment firm is the type I think it is, then hypothetically? Worst-case scenario… that 'someone' may have just sold part of the company."

I went still.

She kept going.

"And the fun part is—" She didn't sound amused. "—if the deal was structured cleverly enough, this guy might not even realize that's what he signed. Some predatory firms specialize in that. Hidden clauses. Reassignment triggers. Diluted share rights. Buried control transfers."

My jaw tightened. "How hidden are we talking?"

"Hidden as in," she said, "you think you're signing a partnership agreement… when in reality, you're signing away voting power or percentage ownership. It's old-school corporate theft dressed up as 'investment support.'"

I closed my eyes.

Prometheus.

Lucien.

No digital trail.

Yeah, it all fit way too easily.

Tasha wasn't finished.

"And if this hypothetical company is working on a massive development projects, that makes them even more attractive targets. The social value alone would make acquisition vultures foam at the mouth."

I swallowed. "Is there any way to undo something like that?"

"Maybe," she said. "Depends on timing. Depends on signatures. Depends on how deep the damage is. But if the person already signed… you're not looking at undoing. You're looking at containment."

My grip tightened around the phone.

Containment.

Great.

Exactly what we didn't need.

Tasha exhaled again, softer this time. "Kai… whoever this is, they need to be careful. If it smells wrong, it probably is. And if the trail is too clean? Someone cleaned it."

Tell me something I didn't know.

"Thanks," I said quietly. "I appreciate it."

"I know you do." She paused. "And hey… whatever this is, make sure you're careful too."

"I will."

"And if you ever need hypotheticals again," she added lightly, "call earlier. I charge extra for midnight mysteries."

I almost smiled. "Noted."

We exchanged a quick goodnight, and I ended the call.

The hallway felt colder when the line cut out.

I slipped my phone into my pocket, looked toward the bedroom where Val was asleep, completely unaware of the conversation I'd just had—and of the possibility that her brother might have accidentally handed away part of Moreau Dynamics without even realizing it.

I walked back inside and closed the door quietly behind me.

Tomorrow, we were going to Trent.

And after that?

We'd start digging.

Because whatever Lucien signed…

It was already much worse than Val thought.

---

To be continued...

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