His voice was low, almost conversational, addressed to the empty room. She hit the Veretti shipment last night. Clean. Surgical.

No witnesses. Again. The crew was… efficient. Professional. Not your average syndicate muscle.

A slow sip of the whiskey, finally. They knew the route. The timing. The weak points in Veretti’s security. Points I designed.

You think it’s an inside job? Someone from the old network?

He turned from the window, his expression unreadable in the dim light. No. This is different. It’s… personal.

She’s not just after territory. She’s dismantling it. Piece by piece. Starting with everyone connected to me.

You want her found. Understood.

His fingers tightened imperceptibly on the glass. I want to know who she is. I want to know why every move she makes feels like a ghost stepping on my grave.

Pull everything. Every cold case, every missing persons report from the last twenty years that fits the profile. Look for anomalies. For disappearances that didn’t add up.

That’s a mountain of data, sir.

Then start digging.