Victoria stood in front of her dressing mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as she fastened a pearl earring. Yesterday's confrontation at the bistro was still playing on a brutal repeat in her mind.
Sabrina's demand had been simple, yet terrifying and dangerous: Deliver the paper trail showing Cosgrove funding the private militia at the northern docks and if possible other trails linking his involvement in drugs and money laundering. Victoria had tried to push back, her throat dry as she pleaded for her life. "I don't recall any money being sent there," she had whispered. "And even if I did, I can't risk accessing those documents. They require not just my password and signature but also Cosgrove's and he is already breathing down my neck. If he finds out, I'm dead."
