Chapter 7
As the tension at table four reached its suffocating peak, a young man in a tailored grey suit approached cautiously from the edge of the ballroom. Arthur Pendelton, twenty-eight, served as Elena Vance’s junior investigator and field aide. He carried himself with the quiet, observant posture of someone accustomed to blending into the background of high-society events. He stopped two paces away, waiting for Elena to acknowledge him before speaking. His face was pale, reflecting the gravity of the data streams flowing back to their mobile command unit parked outside.
Elena glanced up, giving Arthur a subtle nod of permission. "Report," she commanded softly.
Arthur cleared his throat, keeping his voice low enough to avoid drawing the attention of the surrounding guests who were already craning their necks to observe the unfolding drama. "Director, the precinct raid is complete. Officer Marcus’s immediate superiors have surrendered their encryption keys without resistance. However, we encountered an unexpected roadblock at the municipal archives downtown. The physical paper files covering the disaster relief allocations for the past five years have been moved from their designated vault."
General Harrison’s head snapped up, a flicker of desperate hope crossing his weary features. If the physical trail was gone, the digital circumstantial evidence might not hold up under aggressive corporate litigation. But Elena did not share his momentary relief. Her expression remained as cool and analytical as before.
"Moved by whose order?" Elena asked, her voice steady.
May you like
"By order of the Deputy Mayor’s office," Arthur replied, pulling a small tablet from his breast pocket and sliding a digital manifest across the table toward Elena. "Signed this afternoon at four o'clock. They claim the documents were transferred to a secure off-site facility for routine digitization, but our GPS telemetry on the transport van shows it never reached the municipal repository. It’s currently parked in a private industrial park in the North District."
Elena slid the tablet toward herself, scanning the metadata in a matter of seconds. "They are trying to burn the paper trail before the morning news cycle," she observed clinically. She looked across the table at General Harrison, whose brief spark of hope had already been extinguished by her unwavering composure. "It appears your associates have very little faith in your ability to keep quiet, General. They are already cleaning house, and your name is at the top of the discard pile."
