My smile vanishes. "Mr. Santego."
The laugh dies.
"We don't know each other well enough for first names," I continue. "Remember that."
Viktor is standing behind my left shoulder. Sergei's at the door. I've already clocked Vance's three security men. Jacket too stiff on the left side. Fucking Amateurs. I feel insulted.
This meeting should be straightforward. A politician needing money laundered through PAC shells. I require legislative protection and a law enforcement contact who'll look the other way when my shipments pass through the port. Standard arrangement. I've done it a dozen times.
But I have no patience for it today.
Who the hell is leaking information from my organization?
"R-Right. Mr. Santego." Vance smooths his jacket. "The arrangement I'm proposing is mutually beneficial. I need campaign funds moved through legitimate channels. You need—"
"I know what I need. The question is whether you can deliver." I look at him evenly. "Tell me about the port contract."
Vance shifts. "That's a sensitive—"
"Senator." I pick up my pen, turn it once in my fingers. "I know what a man looks like when he's negotiating leverage he doesn't actually have."
His smile doesn't disappear. That's what makes him dangerous in his way — the kind of man who smiles right through the moment he should flinch. "The port contract exists. My committee oversees the licensing renewals. But I'd be stupid to put it on the table before we discuss what I actually need."
"Which isn't campaign financing at all." I set the pen down. "Is it?”
Silence.
"There's a federal investigation," Vance says finally. "Into my financial office. I need it to stop."
Ahh. There it is.
Viktor exhales behind me.
"You need a federal investigation buried," I say. "And you came to me with a port contract you may or may not control. As leverage."
Is he fucking joking with me?
"As an offer—"
"As leverage." I stand, and Vance leans back immediately. "The port contract you're offering was awarded to a competitor last Tuesday." I let that land. "Which means you walked in here with nothing."
His aide makes a sound. I don't look at him.
Vance has gone completely still.
"So here's what happens next." I keep my voice even, almost pleasant. "You leave this building and say nothing about this meeting to anyone. Not your aide, not your wife, not your priest." I pause. "If you do, the SEC analyst working your case gets everything she needs to finish what she started. Every shell you've built. Every favor you've traded. All of it on a desk at the fucking DOJ." Another pause. "Not because I'm angry. Just because you wasted my afternoon."
"You can't—"
"Viktor will see you out."
Vance stares at me. Running calculations. Looking for an angle.
He doesn't find one.
He stands, adjusts his jacket, and walks out. His men file after him. The aide scrambles last, throwing one backward glance I don't bother returning.
The door closes.
