Eli’s voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the soft whir of his laptop fan. Special Agent Rowan Kane leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving the screen where numbers slid in neat, laundering columns.

Victor stood behind Eli, arms crossed over his crisp dress shirt. Eli hesitated. That alone was enough to sour the room.

Eli pulled up a second window—an invite-only forum buried under layers of encryption. No logos. No overt language. Just dates, buy-ins, and payout ratios that spiked obscenely high.

Eli didn’t answer right away. His fingers tapped a quick sequence. A new window opened. Grainy, muted footage. A concrete room. A chain-link fence. Two figures circling. It lasted six seconds before he snapped it shut.

Eli highlighted a line item and turned the laptop slightly. The number glowed on the screen.

The room went quiet. Rowan leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

He pulled up another thread—longer, more obsessive. Users arguing odds. Speculating. Placing side bets that would bankrupt normal people. No names. No faces. Just references.

Rowan felt something cold settle in his chest. His eyes found Eli’s.