Page 129 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

“I heard Sable Crown wasn’t only moving deliveries,” Oleg says quickly. “They matched delivery slips to fake renovation jobs. A medical crate goes one way, and the paper says paint, flooring, clinic supplies, whatever they need it to say.”

He swallows hard. “Some of those crates used the same clearance path as the Riga aid shipment. I changed small things. Times. Labels. Route notes. Nothing big alone.”

Oleg’s voice breaks on the last word.

I step closer. “Big enough to put Volkov’s name near dirty cargo.”

Oleg nods fast. “Yes.”

I lean closer. “And the fire?”

Oleg’s mouth opens, then closes.

“Oleg,” I say, and his name comes out rough.

He flinches. “There were old payments. Before my time. After the Antonov house burned…” He stops midway. His face turns ashen white.

“Continue,” I say, and no part of me wants to relent today.

Oleg bleats, “I heard money went through a renovation account. I don’t know who took it. I don’t know who ordered it. Patrick knows where that record is.”

His voice cracks, and he sobs into his hands.

“Patrick is your man,” he says. “Not me.”

Pathetic.

Dima looks at me, then away. I keep my hands open at my sides.

“What payments around the fire?” I ask.

Oleg starts shaking. “Cleanup money. Men paid after your family house burned. I don’t know names. I swear, I only heard Pavel say Patrick kept copies.”

Pavel’s face drains.

Dima leans closer to him. “You want to add something?”

Pavel says nothing.

I look back at Oleg. “What does Morozov use the hotel for?”

Oleg closes his eyes. “Vostok Meridian?”

“Yes.”

“I heard it gets used when something needs to disappear,” he stammers.

My hand closes around the edge of his chair, and he flinches. “Define disappear.”

“Men disappear there,” Oleg says, words tumbling over each other. “From files, from phones, from payroll. Names change. Security changes before shipments. Sometimes before people move. Oak and Tron guard it because Morozov’s men can’t always be seen near it.”

Pavel grinds his teeth. The sound grates through the room, and Dima looks at him like he knows a hard knock could cure it.

“You can have your turn next,” Dima says.

Oleg folds over himself. “I can work for you. Please. I can pass changes before they close. I can tell you when Patrick’s courier channel moves again.”

I look down at him and feel nothing close to forgiveness.