Page 5

“Yes,” Nik said. “But not before we know who’s pulling the strings.”

His hands moved again in controlled, precise keystrokes. A pause, then another command. Another file opened because Nik asked, and security systems had a habit of obeying him.

From the sofa, I couldn’t read every window that filled the monitors, but I followed along as Nik dug deeper into the assault charges. Court records gave way to old addresses, sealed filings, employment history, government databases, and a few black screens that looked like places honest men weren’t supposed to go.

Nik didn’t hack like men did in movies. There was no grin. No dramatic bullshit.

He simply walked through closed doors without getting out of his chair.

“Sarah Farris,” he murmured. “Thirty-four. Yonkers. Petty-theft conviction, cocaine possession, missed court date, rehab recommended but never completed. Her employment history is erratic at best.”

“So how does a woman like that end up tied to our fake-ID kid?”

“Good question.” His fingers kept moving. “Middle-class background. No violent record. Enough wreckage to control her, enough normalcy to make her sell as sympathetic in front of a jury.”

A cold thread of understanding slid through me.

“She’s exploitable.”

He opened another file, then another, and paused. “This is interesting.”

“What?”

Nik’s eyes narrowed. “Ms. Farris has a second life. She’s been working under an alias for the last few months.”

My molars ground against each other. “Doing what?”

“Escort work,” he said. “Name on the bookings is Tammy Bondi.”

I huffed. “Classy.”

“She works for Elysian Companions Group.”

The name sounded expensive.

“That’s what hooker services call themselves when they want rich men to feel respectable,” I said, leaning forward and resting my forearms on my thighs.

A corporate org chart appeared on the screen. Nik grimaced and leaned closer.

Then he stopped and scrubbed a hand over his chin.

“Elysian Companions connects to Leon Brands.”

I raised a brow. “Never heard of them.”

“You’ve heard of their world.”

“Does that mean anything useful, or are you being dramatic?”

Nik gave me a look.

I shrugged. “No sleep, remember?”

“Leon Brands is a fashion and makeup empire. Lingerie, modeling-adjacent products, private events, mentorship programs, and women’s leadership foundations. They’re respectable on paper and clean enough for charity galas and boardrooms.”

“Sounds like the billionaire class doing what they do.”

“It is,” he growled. “It’s also access. Pretty girls want in. Girls with dreams of modeling, dancing, acting, internships, travel. Girls who think proximity to money means hope for an amazing future.”