Page 9 of Override

****

I pull the folder closer while Callum starts typing, my own laptop humming beneath my fingertips as it wakes from sleep. The first few minutes are exactly what I expected. Property records. Business filings. Corporate ownership.

Gallagher Holdings branches into six different subsidiaries before disappearing into a maze of shell corporations that would make most accountants develop a drinking problem. I chase one thread until it dies in the Cayman Islands, backtrack, pick up another in Delaware, then another overseas.

Nothing. I don't mind nothing. Nothing is usually where the interesting things start.

"You've looked at his businesses?" I ask without taking my eyes off the screen.

Callum nods. "Everything public."

"Banking?"

"So far."

"Phone records?"

"I've only scratched the surface."

A slow smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. "Good."

He looks up. "Good?"

"You haven't ruined all my fun."

His head shakes as another file opens across my screen.

Ronan Gallagher is irritatingly disciplined. No impulsive purchases. No suspicious cash withdrawals. No public scandals. Not even a speeding ticket.

Men with money usually think the rules don't apply to them. They buy boats they don't need, girlfriends they can't afford, and enough traffic violations to keep local governments funded for years.

Ronan Gallagher apparently drove the speed limit. Psychopath. Wheels would have a field day with him.

I lean back just enough to stretch my shoulders before diving into another database. Business licenses. Charitable donations. Real estate. Tax filings. Everything lines up. Too perfectly.

My fingers tap twice against the edge of the desk. Something's wrong. I just haven't figured out what.

"I hate clean," I mutter.

Callum glances over. "Excuse me?"

"Nobody's life is this clean." I rotate the laptop toward him, pointing at the timeline I'd built. "No lawsuits. No messy divorces in the family. No unpaid taxes. No gambling debts. Hell, the man doesn't even have a parking ticket."

"So?"

"So either he's the most boring billionaire in history..." I turn the screen back toward myself. "...or somebody spent a lot of time making sure I couldn't find the interesting parts."

Callum studies me for a second before nodding once. "I've been thinking the same thing."

"Everybody leaves a footprint."

"They do."

"We just haven't found his yet."

The silence that settles between us is comfortable. The kind that only exists between people who don't need conversation to fill a room. Keys click. Coffee cools. Code scrolls.

An hour disappears almost without either of us noticing.