C17 Something beneath

The documents lay sprawled across the long mahogany desk in Bishop’s private study of red-marked accounts, confusing transactions, off-shore statements that didn’t belong in any legitimate company’s ledgers. I stood quietly, sipping lukewarm tea, while Bishop paced behind me like a storm barely contained.

"Here." He stopped abruptly, tapping a circled amount on one of the documents. "This transaction $900,000 moved from a holding account in Zurich to a shell in the Caymans. See the name?"

I squinted, adjusting my glasses. “Dominion Haven Ltd?”

“Exactly,” Bishop said, almost whispering. “That company doesn’t exist in any public registry. But it appears three times across different reports all linked to contracts Damien signed off on.”

It was the first time I’d seen Bishop fully immersed in something other than control or retaliation. This was something deeper. He wasn’t angry anymore, he was determined. Almost scared.

“Do you think Damien was laundering through them?” I asked.

“That’s what I need to find out,” he said, dragging a leather chair closer to mine and sinking into it, hands braced on his knees. “But there’s more. Dominion Haven sent $250,000 to someone under the alias ‘Valentina R.’ And that money trail stops cold.”

Valentina. The name clung to the walls like smoke.

I set the teacup down, heart tightening. “We follow the money, we follow her.”

He nodded. “And maybe… just maybe, we finally understand what this whole thing’s been about.”

He opened his laptop and began logging into an encrypted private network he told me he rarely used anymore one originally designed to keep his family’s business affairs discreet. This time, he was using it to tear apart his own empire. For the first time, Bishop was digging into the rot inside, and I couldn’t help but admire the vulnerability in that.

“Can you pull out the statements I printed last night?” he asked.

I walked over to the adjacent table where they sat in neat stacks. “You haven’t slept, have you?”

“I don’t need sleep,” he said, without looking at me. “Not until I know what Damien wanted. Not until I find out who Valentina really is.”

My heart stirred for him for his obsession, his fear, his guilt.

And somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I felt it too: this wasn’t just about money.

It was about betrayal.

It was about truth.

It was about something coming for all of us.

Bishop's fingers flew across the keyboard, the glow of his screen illuminating the hard line of his jaw. I watched him work, silently impressed by the speed at which he decrypted the files. Every few seconds, he’d pause, eyes narrowing, then pull up a new tab, dive deeper into a rabbit hole of wire transfers, shell companies, and ghost names.

“I still can’t trace where the original funds came from,” he muttered. “They move through three dummy accounts before landing in Dominion Haven’s ledger.”

“What about this?” I leaned over, pointing to a highlighted name in one of the statements. “Morris Gray Holdings. It appears right before every major transfer.”

He blinked. “I saw that earlier but didn’t pay attention to it.”

I flipped through another folder, my fingers trembling. The deeper we dug, the less this felt like a spreadsheet problem and more like a skeleton closet opening one bone at a time.

“I Googled it earlier,” I said. “It’s listed as a mining equipment supplier in Nevada, but their website is just a splash page. No history, no real board, no LinkedIn profiles. Fake.”

Bishop sat back, silent.

Then: “We’re not chasing shell companies. We’re chasing a full-blown operation.”

His voice had changed from frustration to clarity. I felt it too. That sharp tingle in your chest when a puzzle piece finally fits.

“They’re using my name, my company’s networks,” he said, standing abruptly. “Damien wasn’t just siphoning funds, he was using everything I’ve built as camouflage.”

The realization seemed to hit him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, Bishop didn’t speak. He just stared out the window, jaw tight.

I watched him in silence. The man I’d first met cold, unreadable, almost cruel was cracking open under the weight of his own empire. And somehow, it made me trust him more.

“We need someone on the inside of these accounts,” I said. “Someone who understands offshore finance.”

“I have someone,” Bishop said after a long pause. “But bringing him in means admitting I’ve lost control. And he’s not the kind of man you want to owe favors to.”

I tilted my head. “Do we have a choice?”

He sighed. “No.”

Just then, the door creaked open, and Lauren stepped inside, holding a small box of pastries and a mug that said Still Not Dead Yet. Her eyes flicked between us, then to the mess of papers and open laptops.

“Well, damn,” she said. “You two look like you’re plotting to rob the Vatican.”

“Close,” I muttered. “Just unraveling a potential international money-laundering ring run through Bishop’s company.”

Lauren blinked, then set the mug down and pulled up a chair. “Cool. So, want me to bring snacks or gloves?”

Despite everything, I laughed.

And in that small moment crowded around secrets, pastries, and too many unanswered questions I felt less like a pawn in someone else’s game, and more like part of something real.

Bishop glanced at me, something warmer in his gaze.

“There’s a name I want to run by you both,” he said. “Jules Keane. Ex-Wall Street analyst, now runs a cybersecurity firm in London. He’s discreet… but not cheap.”

Lauren folded her arms. “Do we trust him?”

“I trust that he loves power more than money,” Bishop replied. “And right now, this case could give him both.”

“Sounds like someone I’d hate,” Lauren said. “Let’s call him.”

Hours passed.

By nightfall, we’d sent Jules the necessary documents through an encrypted server. He promised to get back to us in twenty-four hours. Bishop barely touched his coffee. Lauren dozed off on the couch. And I… I just sat there, staring at Dominion Haven’s name, over and over again.

Something about it bothered me. Not just the fake nature of it, but the feel of the name. I’d seen it before.

And then it hit me.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the torn corner of paper I’d found weeks ago in Damien’s locked drawer, the one I hadn’t mentioned to Bishop yet. I hadn’t known what it meant at the time. But now, staring at it in the low light, I could see the embossed initials on the edge:

DH.

Dominion Haven.

I turned toward Bishop, heart pounding. “I think Damien left a trail… on purpose.”

He looked up slowly, brows drawn. “What do you mean?”

“I think he wanted someone to find it. Maybe not immediately. But eventually. Maybe he knew something was bigger than him. Maybe he was afraid.”

Bishop stood slowly, eyes fixed on the slip of paper. His jaw clenched. “If that’s true…”

“Then this goes deeper than we thought,” I said.

“Someone wanted Damien silenced.”

He didn’t say it with fear. He said it with certainty.

The storm we were stepping into wasn’t on the horizon anymore.

It was here.

And it had been waiting.