Page 10 of Override

Every time I think I've found a loose thread, it dead-ends into another legitimate business or another perfectly documented transaction. Whoever built Ronan Gallagher's financial life knew exactly how investigators think. I almost respect it. Almost.

Then another image loads. Not a spreadsheet. Not a tax document. A photograph.

"...Well." I stop typing altogether.

Callum doesn't even bother looking up. "What?"

Instead of answering, I spin my laptop around so he can see the screen. Maeve O'Donnell Gallagher smiles back at us from what looks like a charity gala, emerald silk draped over one shoulder while crystal chandeliers blur into soft gold behind her.

"Holy shit, she is fucking hot."

Callum lifts one shoulder without even looking twice. "I guess."

I blink at him. "You guess?" He keeps typing. "You guess?" I repeat, emphasizing each word a little more than the last. "Are you fucking blind or something?" He rolls his eyes, but I can already see the corner of his mouth trying not to smile. "I am guessing that's why your secretary is gone. She made the moves on you and you canned her. She was hot too."

The second the words leave my mouth, I know I've stepped into something.

Callum stills. Only for a heartbeat. But I've known the man long enough to notice the tiny fractures.

I press my lips together.

"...Just say it, Skee."

I let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of my neck. "I guess you wouldn't think any of them were hot." My eyes drift back toward my keyboard. "You have Lacey."

"I had Lacey." The correction lands between us. Not angry. Just...final.

I nod once. "Whatever you say, Brother."

I don't push. Some subjects don't need jokes. Some wounds are still bleeding. Instead, I turn back to my screen and let the rhythm of the search pull me under again.

For the next hour, Ronan Gallagher becomes lines of code and financial records. We dig into every corner of his life, looking for the version of the man he doesn't let the world see. The one hidden behind expensive suits, polished interviews, and immaculate bookkeeping.

The deeper we go, the less I like it. Not because of what I find. Because of what I don't.

Finally, I lean back in my chair, tipping my head against the leather and rolling it slowly from one side to the other until my neck cracks.

"Man..." I exhale, staring at the ceiling. "This guy must be bad. He doesn't have shit on him. It's insane."

Callum doesn't stop typing. "Everybody has something, Skee." His fingers continue moving across the keyboard with the same steady rhythm they'd held all afternoon. "We just have to find it."

****

Three days.

Three days of telling myself I was only looking at Gallagher because Callum hadn't officially told me to stop.

Three days of convincing myself there was a difference between research and investigation.

There wasn't.

By the second night I'd already cloned Gallagher Holdings' public network. By the third morning I'd worked my way through property records, shell companies, shipping manifests, charitable donations, tax filings, security contractors, vehicle registrations, and enough financial reports to make an accountant cry.

Nothing. Not actually nothing. Just...nothing useful.

Everything lined up too neatly. Every company was legitimate. Every tax document was filed on time. Every payment trail ended exactly where it was supposed to.

It was like someone had built an entire life designed to survive an audit.