Chapter 26 Chapter 26

Chapter 26 Chapter 26
VALE POV

Solis was hosting a fundraiser for the criminal justice reform commission he chaired.

The irony was not lost.

It was at the Sinclair Hotel in the financial district—the kind of venue that existed specifically for the performance of institutional importance. Marble floors. Floral arrangements that cost more than most people's monthly rent. The soft classical music loop that signaled 'serious money' to anyone who needed signaling.

Muhammad produced two names on the guest list within fourteen hours. A corporate attorney and a forensic consultant—people with enough professional legitimacy to belong at an event like this and not enough profile to be recognized.
I told Iris the plan in the car on the way.

"We let him see you," I said. "We don't approach him directly. We let him register that you're here, with me, and that you're working against your father. That's enough to create uncertainty."
"Uncertainty about what I know."
"And about how much I know through you. He'll want to assess the threat level. He'll make contact."
"And when he does?"
"You listen. You're precise and you don't volunteer anything. You make him work for information, which will tell him you have more than you're giving up." I glanced at her. "Don't try to get him to say anything useful. That's not the point. The point is the call he makes after he leaves you."
"Muhammad's listening."
"Muhammad is always listening."
She looked out the window at the city moving past. She had on the black dress—something Muhammad's contact had procured for the occasion, very simple, no jewelry except small gold earrings. She looked like what she was: a professional woman at a professional event. She also looked like someone who was completely unbothered by walking into a room full of people who wished she wasn't there, which was either very practiced or very genuine.
I was beginning to think it was the latter.

The event was two hundred and thirty people at capacity. Solis was at the center of the room by virtue of being the reason for the room—an instinct he didn't need to work at, the gravitational pull of a man who'd spent decades accumulating the specific kind of power that made other powerful people defer.

I took Iris's arm when we walked in. She didn't stiffen.

We moved through the room with the deliberate ease of people who belonged there. I let myself be visible—I had enough profile in this city that recognition was a tool as much as an inconvenience. I watched the awareness travel. Saw the moment Solis's peripheral attention registered us from across the room.

Eleven minutes.
He was in conversation with three members of the city council when he made his excuses. They barely had time to adjust before he was crossing the floor.

"Dr. William." Warm. Impeccable. The smile of a man who had practiced looking genuinely pleased so many times it had become indistinguishable. "I didn't realize you'd be joining us tonight."
"My schedule opened up," Iris said.

"And your companion?" His eyes came to me with the kind of attention that was not quite as casual as he made it appear.
"Vale Ashby," I said.

"Yes." The word was the acknowledgment of a person who had known my name before I said it and was deciding whether to pretend otherwise. He chose honesty—the kind that was meant to signal confidence. "I know who you are."
"Most people do."

He looked at Iris again. The assessment was very quick and very thorough—she was the variable he didn't have complete information on, and he was recalibrating.
"You've been doing interesting work lately, Doctor," he said.
"I've found the material compelling."

"I'd heard you'd been reviewing some historical case files. Family history, in a sense." The lightness of it was studied. "I imagine that can be—complicated."
"I've found clarity tends to simplify what looked complicated." She held his gaze without effort. "The more thorough the documentation, the less ambiguity remains."

Something in Solis's expression adjusted. Barely visible. The recalibration of a man who'd come to assess and had found the situation was less favorable than he'd hoped.

"You should be thoughtful," he said. Still pleasant. Still warm. "About incomplete information. About conclusions drawn before all the evidence is available."

"I always am," she said. "Forensic training. You don't file a report until the full analysis is complete." A pause. "I'm close to complete."
The silence lasted two seconds.
"Enjoy the evening," Solis said.

He moved away with the same composed authority he'd arrived with. But I watched his right hand find his phone before he'd taken eight steps.

Iris leaned toward me slightly, close enough that her voice reached only me. "He's making a call now."
"I know. Muhammad has his number." I guided us toward the edge of the room, toward the exit. "We're leaving."
"Did we get what we needed?"
I looked down at her. She was very steady. Very present. The kind of person who performed the hard thing and then assessed the aftermath without needing to process it out loud.

"We planted the seed," I said. "Now we watch it grow."
She looked forward and said nothing else.

But I felt her exhale—one breath, slow and deliberate—and I understood that she'd been more frightened than she'd showed, and that the fact of it not showing was its own kind of extraordinary.