Wednesday, 9:45 PM. The Bunker.
The air in the basement lab was heavy, recycling the smell of ozone, stale coffee, and anxiety. We had been at it for twelve hours straight.
"Nothing," Nia muttered, tossing a stylus onto her desk. She rubbed her eyes, smearing her eyeliner. "Thorne is paranoid. His personal accounts are air-gapped. The company servers are clean. If he's cooking the books, he's doing it on paper."
"He's not clean," I said, leaning against the concrete wall. "He's broke. We know he's broke. That's why he's trying to secure the bridge loan."
"Desperate men make mistakes," Ethan said, scrolling through a tablet. "But they also cover them up. I've checked the accounts. I've checked the shell companies. It's all... legal. Barely. But legal. There's no smoking gun here, Jake."
"We're missing something," I said, pacing the small room. "We're looking at the money. We need to look at what the money buys."
