Callan found Felix hunched over three monitors at six in the morning, surrounded by cold coffee cups that had multiplied like evidence at a crime scene. Blue light from the displays washed over Felix’s face, turning his skin the color of salt."Tell me it's good news," Callan said, stopping at the edge of the desk."It's news," Felix replied, not looking up. His fingers flew across a mechanical keyboard with the sharp, rhythmic snap of small arms fire. "Whether it's good depends on how much you like your grandmother's job."He turned the center monitor around. Rows of shell entities, dated purchases, proxy assignments—a year's worth of quiet accumulation dressed up as routine portfolio diversification."Dorian's been buying loyalty," Felix said, tapping a red line of data. "Three board members. Whitfield, Anders, and—this is the one that's going to sting—Delacroix-Hart. All three took money through blind trusts that trace back, eventually, to Chase-adjacent holding companies. Eventual