It’s about perception.
And perception is easier to manipulate than truth.
The SUV slows as we approach a red light.
Sergei taps the steering wheel once, thinking. “You know what Petrov told my contact?” he says.
“What?”
“He said if Volkov doesn’t kneel, he’ll burn half the city to the ground.”
I finally look up from the window. “Petrov talks too much.”
Sergei chuckles darkly. “That’s what you said before you made the Chicago syndicate apologize to each other.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“They were intelligent.”
Sergei laughs outright this time.
I let the silence settle again for a moment.
Negotiation is mostly preparation.
You listen.
You observe.
You learn where the pressure points are.
Then you apply just enough force to make the right decision feel inevitable.
Sergei clears his throat. “There’s another—”
Before he can finish, my encrypted device pings. A security alert flashes across the screen, instantly opening a live location map. My eyes narrow.
The pin shows a sudden deviation from its usual route. A sharp curve in her trajectory. Something is off. Very off.
The pin is Ellie Carver.MyEllie.
“Something’s up,” I say, tapping Sergei’s shoulders and sliding the device toward him. “Ellie isn’t headed home.”
Sergei leans forward, eyes on the map. “What?”
I tap the screen to zoom in. The GPS shows a small but sharp detour—she hasn’t taken any usual alternate routes. My mind calculates the odds. Too precise to be a coincidence.
“Change route,” I order. “Find her now.”
The tires catch the asphalt with a shrill screech as Sergei swings the SUV sharply onto the route indicated by the map.
“Traffic cams,” I murmur, pulling my tablet from its mount. The city grid flashes across the screen, each camera feed live. Sergei inputs the intersection coordinates.
Seconds later—ninety, exactly ninety seconds—he spots a black sedan weaving slightly, almost too controlled, a full block ahead. I tap my tablet to enlarge the feed.
“Eastern plate modification,” I mutter. “Not local.”