Dante POV
He pulls the Victor Cole file at nine in the morning and reads it as it owes him something.
It doesn't. It is what it always was: clean, brief, and final. Three pages of numbers and dates, and a one-line conclusion at the bottom that says matter resolved in Marco's handwriting. Dante has read hundreds of files that end that way. He stopped reading past those two words a long time ago because, past those two words, there is nothing he needs to know.
This morning, he read past them.
Victor Cole. Fifty-one years old at the time of death. Self-employed accountant with a small office on the ninth floor of a building on Carver Street. No partners. No staff. Clients are listed as various private individuals, which is the kind of language that means exactly what it sounds like when you know how to read it.
