Page 44 of Only the Hunter

“There’s an NGO headquartered there,” she says, tone clinical. “One I’ve worked with before. Daniel Price mentioned it yesterday. They don’t take witnesses unless something’s gone wrong on the government side.”

“So you’re going to ask questions.”

“I’m going to confirm she’s safe,” she corrects. “In person.”

“Why in person?”

“Because if someone is monitoring my access here, they’re monitoring my communications. And because if Lina was moved quickly, there will be paperwork that never made it back into the system.” Her jaw tightens. “And because files don’t disappear in Switzerland the way they do here.”

That last part lands with more ugliness than she probably intends.

I nod slowly, absorbing. Ugly or not, it’s true.

Her plan isn’t reckless. It’s measured. I still don’t like it.

“You’re not planning to tell anyone at work,” I say.

“No.”

“Your father?”

“Absolutely not.”

I glance at her hands in her lap—unmoving, but clenched. She’s past the point of asking permission. What she’s doing now is explaining.

“Okay,” I say. “Then here’s what you need to know.”

Her eyes flick back to me, expression sharp. Alert. Likely defensive.

“I ran a background check on the NGO,” I continue. “Not because I didn’t trust you. Because it’s how I think.”

She doesn’t interrupt. A good sign.

“The organization itself is clean. Their leadership is solid. But the financial ecosystem around them?” I shake my head once. “Less so.”

She shifts slightly in her seat.

“Geneva shows up more than once in connection with shell entities tied to the cartel you’ve been prosecuting. Not directly. Never directly. But close enough that it raised flags in two separate intel summaries.”

She’s quiet. Processing.

“There’s a consulting firm registered there,” I add. “And a foundation. Both innocuous on paper. Both funded through layered trusts. Both names I’ve seen before.”

“Names?”

“One in particular.” I hesitate just long enough to mark the importance. “Arturo Menendez.”

“El Pastor,” she says quietly.

“Yeah.”

She’s silent for a long moment. I can almost see her mind working—connecting dots, recalculating risk. “You’re sure about this?”

“I’m sure his money has fingerprints all over Geneva. I’m sure he protects assets there. And I’m sure that if you’re walking into a city where he operates, you need to know what you’re walking into. And you shouldn’t walk in alone.”

She leans back, closing her eyes for a brief second. When she opens them again, I see it. Zero fear. Only resolution.

I can’t say I like it.