Lucian's private office at the Estate sat at the highest point of the structure, overlooking the city and its traffic. Digital screens lined the walls, scrolling through the frozen accounts, the closed bridges, and the movement of Council ships in the harbor.
Lucian sat behind the desk, his silhouette framed by the cold glow of the monitors. He hadn't slept much but he'd certainly made much progress on rebuilding the South district's men all over again.
The heavy door hissed open. Marrok stepped in. He held a physical folder—weathered leather, stained with age and grease.
Marrok placed the file on the obsidian desk. The sound of the leather hitting the stone was heavy.
"We pulled archived records from your father's private vault," Marrok said, his voice hushed. "The deep-storage unit one we found six months ago in the sub-basement. Our specialist was finally able to crack the kinetic lock."
