Chapter 126
Diana's POV
At 8:55 AM, I was rearranging the Ivanov file for the third time.
Ridiculous. I'd already organized everything alphabetically, chronologically, and by evidence type. The materials were as ready as they'd ever be. What I wasn't ready for was facing Jack Harrison—the man I'd falsely accused, publicly humiliated, and nearly destroyed.
Professional, I reminded myself. This is about Katya. About Lena. About stopping Silverpine.
At exactly 9:00, Sophia buzzed from reception. "Ms. Clarke, Mr. Harrison and his team are here."
I took a breath. "Send them in."
Jack entered first, flanked by two specialists I didn't recognize—a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and a tablet, and a younger man carrying what looked like a portable server. All three moved with the quiet efficiency of people used to high-stakes work.
"Ms. Clarke." Jack extended his hand. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
I shook it, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "Jack. Before we start, I need to say—"
"We covered this at Reynolds," he interrupted gently. "You apologized. I accepted. We're past it."
"I'm not sure I am." The words came out rougher than I intended. "What I did—"
"Was based on evidence you believed to be real." His tone was firm but not unkind. "Claire manipulated both of us. You fought for what you thought was right. That's what good lawyers do."
Something in my chest loosened slightly. Not forgiveness—I didn't deserve that yet—but maybe the possibility of moving forward.
"Okay." I nodded. "Then let's get to work."
Jack gestured to his companions. "This is Natasha Volkov, financial forensics specialist, and David Chen, data analyst. They've both signed NDAs and have top-level clearance for sensitive material."
Natasha's handshake was firm. "Ms. Clarke. Jack's told us about the Ivanov case. I'm familiar with similar trafficking operations in Eastern Europe. If Silverpine's involved, we'll find the threads."
David simply nodded, already scanning my office with the assessing gaze of someone cataloging data sources.
Sophia appeared with coffee—she'd anticipated I'd need the good stuff today—and distributed cups with practiced ease. "Anything else you need, just holler."
"Thanks, Soph." I waited until she'd returned to her desk, then pulled out the first accordion file. "Let me walk you through what I have."
For the next hour, I laid out Katya's nightmare in clinical detail. The recruitment in Moldova, the false promises of translation work, the eight months of captivity. The forged medical documents that made her kidney "donation" look voluntary. The underground clinic in Zurich that performed the extraction.
"I traced the operation back to this facility." I spread out surveillance photos, building schematics, intercepted emails. "The clinic used a rotating cast of surgeons—most with suspended licenses in their home countries. They specialized in matching desperate sellers with wealthy buyers."
Natasha leaned forward, her expression hardening. "And Silverpine?"
"I could never prove direct involvement. But every lead I followed pointed to a 'consulting group' that provided legal cover, moved money, made problems disappear." I pulled out a printout of a corporate structure chart, one I'd spent months piecing together. "Shell companies layered six deep, all registered in different jurisdictions. And at the center—hints of Silverpine Advisory Group."
David's fingers flew across his tablet. "You have account numbers?"
"Some. The Swiss authorities shut down my access before I could trace them fully." The old frustration burned fresh. "Witnesses recanted. Documents vanished. The case was dismissed for 'insufficient evidence.'"
"And Katya?" Jack's voice was quiet.
I pulled up a photo on my laptop—not the intake photo with the haunted eyes, but one from six months ago. Katya behind a grocery store counter in Minneapolis, smiling tentatively at the camera. Still too thin. Still carrying the scar.
"She survived," I said. "But she didn't get justice."
The room fell silent. Then Natasha said, "Let's change that."
---
David commandeered my conference table, spreading out three laptops and enough cables to run a small server farm. Natasha dove into the financial records I'd compiled, cross-referencing them with databases I didn't have clearance to access.
"Wait." Natasha's voice cut through the quiet hum of keyboards. "Diana, this $200,000 payment to Account #4478-CH—when was it made?"
I pulled up my notes. "March 15th, two years ago. The same week Katya's medical records were forged."
"And it went to a shell company in Liechtenstein—Clearview Holdings AG?"
"Clearview, yes. Which is owned by another shell in Luxembourg, which is owned by—"
"Silverpine." Natasha turned her screen toward me. "Look at this."
It was a bank transfer record—but not from my files. The date: March 14th, two years ago. The amount: $200,000. The source account was labeled simply "MG Personal."
"MG?" I frowned.
"Marcus Grant." Jack's voice was tight. "From the phone Alexander recovered. He made a payment to the exact same account, one day before your victim's documents were forged."
The room temperature seemed to drop.
"That's not coincidence," I said slowly. "That's confirmation. Marcus used Silverpine's network. For Katya, for Lena, probably for dozens of others we don't know about."
David pulled up another screen. "It gets worse. I've been analyzing the metadata from Lena's apartment intrusion—the fake work order, the entry logs. The woman who broke in, Catherine Walsh? She's linked to at least four other 'problem resolution' jobs in the past eighteen months."
He displayed a timeline: different cities, different targets, but the same MO. Forged credentials, infiltration, intimidation.
"Silverpine doesn't just use the same shell companies," Natasha murmured. "They use the same operators. Over and over. That's a pattern."
"Which means," Jack said, "we can establish criminal enterprise. RICO, if we can get U.S. jurisdiction."
I felt my pulse quicken. "You're talking about taking down the whole network."
"We're talking about making sure they can't do this to anyone else." Jack's expression was hard. "What do you need from us?"