Azriel's Point Of View
The scent of cheap printer toner mingled with expensive bourbon, creating a nauseating cocktail that pounded behind my eyes. I leaned back in my leather chair, tapping a heavy gold signet ring against the mahogany desk's edge while Lucian and Draven tore through the latest stack of financial ledgers we'd dragged from Russo shipping accounts.
We were hunting for the money trail… the one that would tie the old man directly to the dock smuggling rings, but every page mirrored the last. Dozens of shell companies bore names that sounded like generic vitamin brands, meaningless and deliberately obscure.
"If I have to look at the words 'Apex Logistics Holdings' one more time," I muttered, rubbing my temples, "I'm going to set fire to this desk."
