Chapter 3
Cracks in the mirror
The night settled heavily over the city, turning every shadow into something sinister. Back at Elias's office, the small team gathered in silence, the weight of what they now knew pressing against them like a storm cloud on the verge of bursting.
Amara sat on the leather couch, fingers curled tightly around a cup of lukewarm coffee. Her thoughts raced. The café, Liana's trembling hands, the man on the street—it all played back in her head like a warning she couldn't ignore.
Mason paced across the room, phone in one hand, laptop in the other. "Liana's meeting logs are clean enough to pass in court, if it ever gets that far. But there's more—hidden texts, off-the-record calls, encrypted files linked to shell companies. And guess who's on two of those corporate boards?"
Elias leaned back in his chair, eyes dark. "Myra Solarin."
Amara's lips parted in disbelief. "My aunt sister …"
Liana flinched in the corner. "She's been laundering money through NGOs—using them to cover bribes, hush deals, even payoffs to judges."
The room went still.
"No one believed me," Liana said, voice shaking. "And when I finally realized how far it went, I was already trapped. That's why I kept quiet when you were arrested, Amara. I was afraid."
Amara looked at her for a long moment, her voice soft but sharp. "You were part of it."
Liana swallowed, eyes glistening. "I was. But I want to make it right."
Elias stood. "We don't have time for guilt. We need leverage. Mason, can you trace those files to something actionable?"
Mason smirked. "Already working on it. One name keeps popping up—Justice Raymond Oris. Disbarred, vanished, but apparently still pulling strings."
"Raymond Oris?" Amara echoed. "He used to be my aunt's mentor."
Elias rubbed his temples. "That explains a lot."
Amara stood suddenly. "We need to find him."
"That's dangerous," Liana warned. "He's not just hiding—he's protected. If you go after him, you won't walk away clean."
Amara looked at Elias, then at Mason. "We've come too far to back off now. If he's part of this, we expose him."
Elias stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Then we do it together. But smart. No more blind leaps."
For the first time in days, there was something unspoken between them—trust. Even Mason paused long enough to notice it, smirking quietly.
"I'll set up a backdoor trace," he said. "And Liana—if you're really with us, I'll need full access to your company laptop."
Liana hesitated, then nodded. "You'll have it by morning."
They broke for the night just past midnight. Mason left to set up surveillance, Liana took a temporary room in the apartment above Elias's office, and Elias walked Amara to the street, where the night air was crisp.
She paused near the curb, looking up at the sky. "I keep waiting to feel safe again."
Elias didn't say anything at first. Then, softly: "Safe isn't what we're chasing anymore."
Amara looked at him, a small frown on her lips. "Then what are we chasing?"
He met her gaze. "Truth. Even if it breaks everything."
Her breath caught. For a moment, the city seemed to hold its breath with her.
By morning, the office felt like a war room.
Mason had set up a mini command center in the corner, surrounded by monitors and wires. A fresh pot of coffee brewed on the counter, but no one was resting. The air pulsed with urgency, with purpose.
Elias stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear. His usually calm expression was hard now, clenched. "No, I don't care if he's in a meeting. We need to talk to him—today."
He hung up and turned to the room. "Raymond Oris is resurfacing. There's a fundraiser tonight at the Hilcrest Hotel—low-key, no press, but the guest list is high-tier. Politicians, lawyers, retired judges. And he's on it."
Amara stood near Mason's desk, arms folded. She hadn't slept. Her eyes were sharp with a kind of clarity only exhaustion can bring.
"So we crash it," she said.
Elias raised an eyebrow. "It's not a club, Amara. We can't just walk in."
"We don't have to walk in," Mason said, typing fast. "We slip in. I can get two of you on the list. Not real names—enough to pass for wealthy donors or legal observers. I've done it before."
Liana stepped into the room just then, dressed differently than the past few days. More put-together. Controlled. Her hair was swept back into a sleek bun, her makeup sharp. The guilt in her eyes was still there, but it sat behind a mask now.
"I can get you in," she said. "My aunt has a reserved table under one of her dummy companies. I used to handle her events. If I show up, no one will question you being there."
Elias looked at her carefully. "Why the sudden loyalty?"
Liana didn't flinch. "Because I'm tired of being afraid."
That night, the Hilcrest was glowing like a palace. Expensive cars lined the valet queue, and the glittering chandelier inside the foyer reflected against polished marble floors. It was a world built to keep people like Amara out.
But tonight, she walked in.
Amara wore a black satin gown borrowed from one of Liana's old clients. Her hair curled in soft waves, her lips painted wine-red. She looked nothing like the girl who had been arrested weeks ago—she looked dangerous. Controlled.
Elias, in a charcoal suit and tailored coat, blended effortlessly into the crowd. He had that presence—like he belonged, even in places he didn't believe in.
The ballroom buzzed with polite laughter, clinking glasses, and murmurs of wealth. Mason's voice crackled through the earpiece they shared.
"Okay, you're in. Oris is at the far end, near the grand piano. Third table from the left. He's talking to a senator."
Elias guided Amara through the crowd like they were just another couple attending a night of politics and power. But Amara's heartbeat was thunder in her chest.
There he was.
Raymond Oris. Older than she remembered, but unmistakable. Thick white hair, a smug half-smile, eyes that didn't blink enough. He was laughing at something the senator had said.
And then his eyes met hers.
A pause. A flicker of recognition. Barely a second, but she saw it.
He knew her.
She looked away quickly. Elias leaned in. "He clocked you."
Amara's voice was low. "Let's make it count."
They didn't confront him—not yet. That wasn't the plan. But they observed. Listened. Picked up pieces.
The night was full of threads—names, business deals, covert alliances whispered in half-empty wine glasses. Mason recorded everything. Liana floated between tables like a ghost, gathering glances and rumors.
And then, as they were about to leave, Elias slipped a note onto Oris's table. One line, written in tight, clean script:
We know. And we're not alone.
As they exited through the garden entrance, Amara turned to Elias. "Do you think it was enough?"
He looked at her, unreadable. "It was a message."
She exhaled. "What now?"
"Now we wait," Elias said. "And we prepare for what comes next."
Because something was coming.
And they were finally ready to meet it head-on.