Norman did not stall. After the meeting and the gunfire, one thing became obvious. Someone was close. Not somewhere out on Chukur, not in the abstract. Close enough to breathe the same air. That someone was either feeding Sperare or had already made a deal with them.

  He gathered his people at home, no extra guests.

  “Dig,” he said. Short and hard. “Quietly. No theater. I do not need a second explosion.”

  He put Boris Illget on it.

  Boris disliked the assignment immediately. He did not argue outright, but his face gave him away. He hated the idea.

  “You want me working with Confederation agencies?” the young man asked when they were alone in the study.

  “I want you using your head,” Norman said. “Who you talk to is logistics.”

  “Logistics?” the young man gave a thin smile. “Those logistics show up at night and tell you to sign. Or to stay quiet.”

  Norman looked at him steadily.

  “Chukur is in the Confederation whether you like it or not. We can pretend we are independent, we can call them bureaucrats, but the rules are the rules. While we are inside the system, they get their hands in. And if we want Sperare outlawed and actually squeezed, not debated in some congress, we play along. At least a little.”

  Young Illget said nothing. It was not that his father was right that bothered him. It was that there was almost no choice.

  Wilt Norcutt volunteered without being asked.

  “I’m going with him,” the inquisitor said, like it had already been decided. “It’ll be faster.”

  Norman did not argue. He only nodded.

  “Then be careful. No noise.”

  He gave Doris a different job.

  “Audit,” he told her over dinner. “All the business. Every account, every chain, every shell, every route the cash takes. And not just ours. Anything that crosses us by accident.”

  Doris did not even blink.

  “Understood.”

  She was calm, dry, precise. It made people uneasy. When Doris started digging, she usually hit bone.

  Boris drove to Kerry Qual Gaiz angry.

  He never liked their family. Too polished, too correct. And they kept turning up near Norman whenever trouble started. It might have been coincidence. It might not.

  He had suspected the Qual Gaiz from the beginning.

  Their position was not as strong as it used to be. Some people had drifted away. Some money had gotten stuck. When a family started slipping, they went looking for cover. Or a buyer. Or a partner who could help.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Sperare were exactly that kind of help.

  Kerry’s place was not as ornate as Norman’s. Cleaner. More corporate. No excess, but everything expensive. That was the difference. Norman lived like a king in the mud. Kerry lived like a director in an office.

  They let him in quickly.

  The sitting room smelled of coffee and something sweet and costly. The walls held no paintings, only screens streaming market graphs. Even at home, her world looked like work.

  Kerry came out herself.

  Young, beautiful, controlled. Hair pinned neatly. A suit chosen to signal authority, not seduction. Her smile was smooth and empty of warmth.

  She looked at Boris, then at Wilt.

  “An Inquisitor,” she said. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “Don’t pretend you’re surprised,” the young man said. “You know why we’re here.”

  Kerry lifted an eyebrow.

  “Say it.”

  The young man stepped closer and stayed standing.

  “That’s why you didn’t come to the meeting. Your family’s not having its best year.”

  Kerry did not flinch. No flash of temper. Only her gaze cooled by a degree.

  “So?” she asked.

  “You decided to sit it out. While we’re deciding whether Sperare are outlawed, you stay home. Smart. If they win, you weren’t against them. If we win, you didn’t interfere.”

  Kerry exhaled through her nose, as if she was tired of basic explanations.

  “Go against the whole planet alone? No, Boris. I’m angry at you, but I’m not that stupid. Even if I killed you, your father becomes my enemy. He would crush me.”

  Boris narrowed his eyes.

  “Not alone. With Sperare.”

  For the first time something shifted in her. Not fear. A flicker of irritation.

  “I’m not an adventurer, Boris. Sorry.” Her eyes slid to Wilt. “And I’m not suicidal. If you have proof, show it. If you don’t, leave. I have work.”

  She moved a step toward the door and made a small gesture that said the conversation was over.

  The guards in the corridor did not move, but the message did. One more word and the tone would change. Here, people were reminded there were other kinds of talks.

  Boris watched Kerry for a couple seconds, then nodded.

  “Fine.”

  He turned and headed out. Wilt walked beside him, silent.

  In the car, Young Illget slapped his palm against the steering wheel.

  “Did you see that?” he said. “Too smooth. Too calm. Like she knew we’d come.”

  Wilt did not answer right away. She stared out the window at Chukur’s streets, at people, at cameras mounted on corners.

  “She could be clean,” Wilt said at last. “And just didn’t want to get involved. Half the planet is like that.”

  “Or she’s in it,” the young man muttered.

  “She could be,” Wilt agreed. “If she is, she did one thing right. She didn’t lose control and she didn’t give us anything.”

  The young man made a sound of disgust.

  “So we drove all that way for nothing.”

  “No,” Wilt said. “We checked her reaction. Now we know she can hold her face. That’s information.”

  Boris glanced at her.

  “Are you serious?”

  Wilt turned her head.

  “I’m always serious, Boris. Especially when Sperare are close.”

  She went quiet for a moment, as if replaying the conversation again.

  Kerry had not lied outright once. But she had also said nothing that could hurt her. No names. No contacts. Not even emotion. Convenient. Too convenient.

  Wilt thought of something else.

  If Kerry skipped the meeting, then someone told her not to go. Or she decided on her own that there would be shooting. But how could she know that?

  Wilt looked at Boris.

  “Tell me who else didn’t show. Not for a respectable reason. Like this. Quiet.”

  Young Illget hesitated, thinking.

  “Two more,” he said. “I’ll tell you later. My head’s boiling.”

  Wilt nodded.

  “You’ll tell me. And we’ll visit them.”

  Boris’s smile bent crooked.

  “Do you ever rest?”

  “I rest when the target is dead,” the inquisitor said, and turned back to the window.

  Privately, she thought something else.

  The target was not dead.

  Lothar was in the medical block. Sperare were already here. And if they had started shooting at families, then they were not just chasing money. They were digging in.

  And Kerry Qual Gaiz watched it all with a calm that suggested it did not touch her.

  On Chukur, that was usually the look of someone who had already made a deal.