Corbin's phone vibrated once at the kitchen table.
No name. No number. Two lines of text: We need to talk. It's about Mercer.
Samantha looked up from her laptop. "Who sent that?"
He turned the screen toward her.
"Vance," she read. "The guy who tried to kill you?"
"He hired someone else to do it."
"That distinction doesn't make it any better."
"Fair enough."
She closed the laptop. "What does he want? And don't say you don't know yet."
"I don't know yet. But Mercer's still alive, and if Vance knows something new, it's worth hearing." He stood. "I'm going."
"Alone?"
"Probably."
"Probably is not my favorite answer."
He kissed her. "I'll tell you where when I know. And I'll come back."
"If you don't come back?"
"I'll come back."
"That wasn't my question."
His smile faded. "I know."
"Be careful."
"I will, Sam."
She held his gaze. "Come back."
"Plan to."
The address came ten minutes later. An old, nameless office building downtown.
Corbin texted the address to Samantha. She replied in seconds: Send me a pin when you get there.
He did. She sent back a single thumbs-up.
He typed: Out in an hour.
She replied: You'd better be.
He parked two blocks away and walked. The front windows were dark. Footprints crossed the dust on the glass.
The lobby door was unlocked. No guard, no desk, no cameras. He took the stairs to the second floor and followed the light spilling from an open office.
One breathing pattern inside. No movement.
He pushed the door open.
Vance sat alone behind an empty desk. For a long moment they just looked at each other.
"You came," Vance said.
"You said Mercer."
"I knew the name would work. Careful, though — it works both ways."
"I know." Vance gestured at the chair across from him. "Before we start — I'm not doing this for you."
"I didn't think you were."
"Good. Then we understand each other."
Corbin shut the door. "What's the story?"
Vance reached under the desk and pulled out a thick Manila folder. Set it between them.
"Read it all. Not just the job you were paid for — the story behind it."
"I will."
He opened the folder. Photos, bank statements, corporate registrations. Names Corbin had never seen.
Vance pushed one photo across the desk. Mercer, walking into a building. Very much alive.
"Still breathing," Corbin said.
"Disappointed?"
"I never wanted him dead. Just the paycheck."
"Honest, at least."
"It's a living."
Corbin picked up the second photo. Mercer at a café, two weeks earlier. "Who took these?"
"My people, before I pulled them off. Three weeks of watching him — long enough to learn he wasn't running from me."
"From Vale?"
"From whoever Vale answers to." Vance tapped the statements. "Mercer isn't hiding from a man, Corbin. He's hiding from a system."
"I was watching him until I found something bigger." Two more photos. Same man, different places, different dates.
"What did he find?"
"An organization hiding inside ordinary paper. These shell companies look separate until you follow the money; then the trails cross. Mercer followed it, started asking questions, and somebody put a price on his head." Vance met his eyes. "Look at the routing codes. Different accounts, same authorization pattern."
Corbin studied them. "Same originator. Different pipes."
"You read wire transfers?"
"I read patterns."
"Who do you think gave me the order?"
Corbin held his gaze. "Tell me."
Vance set down a final photo. A silver-haired man in an expensive suit, smiling with politicians at a gala.
"Adrian Vale," Vance said. "Publicly, a wealthy investor. Privately, the man who wants Mercer dead."
"Proof?"
"Payment authorization — same codes, different accounts." Vance slid a document over. "The hit on Mercer and the hit on you came from the exact same source."
Corbin went very still. "Vale ordered both."
"Yes. When Mercer went missing, Vale's people got nervous and checked everyone involved, including the contractor. You didn't finish the job, the man I sent after you turned up dead, and they realized you weren't a normal contractor."
"So they panicked."
"They panicked. People who panic make mistakes."
"That's what I'm counting on."
Corbin stared at Vale's face. "Why tell me?"
"Because I stopped hunting you and started investigating Vale." Vance closed the folder. "Mercer knows enough to get himself killed, and he's still hiding."
Corbin picked up the photo and slid it into his jacket pocket.
"Where are you going?" Vance asked.
"To find Mercer."
"We're looking for the same answers, Corbin."
"Don't mistake that for teamwork."
"I won't."
Corbin reached the door and stopped. "Vance."
"What."
"If your people followed me here, we're done talking."
"Nobody followed you. I came alone."
"See that it stays that way."
Vance said, "One more thing. Whoever ordered the hit on you used your real name. Someone inside Vale's circle knows who you actually are. I don't know who yet, but I'm checking."
"Let me know when you find out."
"Wait." Vance held up the photo of Mercer. "One more detail. He isn't hiding from Vale."
Corbin turned. "Then who is he hiding from?"
"I have no idea."
"Corbin." Vance's voice followed him.
He stopped.
"Be careful who you trust with that photo."
"I don't trust anyone with it."
He walked out into the night.
In the car he dialed Samantha. She picked up on the first ring.
"I'm fine," he said. "The hit on Mercer was ordered by a man named Adrian Vale. He ordered mine, too."
Silence. Then: "Okay. That sounds dangerous, and you're saying it like it's weather."
"It is dangerous."
"What now?"
"I find Mercer. Whatever he knows is the reason we're in this mess."
"And then?"
"Then I decide."
"That," she said, "is not reassuring."
"It's honest."
"Fine. Find him. And lock your doors."
"They're locked."
"Check them anyway. Humor me."
"Fine." A pause. "And Corbin—"
"I'm coming home."
"That's all I needed."
He hung up and looked at the photo of Vale's smiling face.
Now the enemy had a face.