Page 96 of The Silent Hour

"Cortez drops my name into this mess, and suddenly people I've worked with for two years look at me like I'm carrying a bomb under my clothes." Her mouth twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "So, if someone sends me coordinates to an abandoned construction site connected to the same shit, I'm going to find out why."

"Alone?"

"Who exactly was I supposed to trust?"

I didn't answer. The rain had started to fall outside, faint against the metal roof. Her laugh held no humor at my lack of reply.

"Exactly."

I felt a surge of irritation, she was right. I pivoted back to the folding metal desk crowded with ledgers and manila folders. “We document what’s here. Nothing leaves tonight,” I said, raising my camera again.

Her eyes flicked to me. “I know.”

“And you stay where I can see you.”

That earned a faint, wry curve at the corner of her mouth. She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Careful, Mr. Marcelli.”

I leveled my gaze on her.

“You almost made that sound like concern.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I replied briskly.

I ignored her and focused on photographing the next stack of documents. For a few minutes we fell into a rhythm—no innuendo, no bullshit. She moved along the opposite side of the cramped trailer, leafing through dusty ledgers, reading names aloud while I checked them against incident reports.

Every so often, one of us paused, found a new atrocity: ghost employees listed on payroll, shell companies masked by generic addresses, construction “accidents” that looked suspiciously intentional, payments funneled through businesses that shouldn’t exist—and always, too many goddamn names.

“This one,” Lila said, voice low.

I stepped around the desk. Her finger hovered under an entry dated nearly three years ago. A payment, another payment, then a gap.

“Recognize it from any files?” she asked.

I shrugged. “No.”

She glanced up, eyes dark. “I do.”

I frowned. “From where?”

“Not telling yet.”

I crossed my arms. “Lila—”

She shook her head, lips pressed tight. “I’m not giving you half an answer.”

“You’ve been giving everyone half answers since Cortez dropped your name.”

Her jaw clenched, a tremor in her voice. “You think I’m enjoying this?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“Neither do I!” Her tone cracked, echoing off the metal walls. Silence followed. She turned away, shoulders tight. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.

Then she exhaled and pressed both palms to her face, smoothing her features. “I’m trying to figure out why a man I’ve spent my entire adult life pretending doesn’t exist decided to make damn sure everyone knows I do.”

That was something raw, unguarded. I should’ve left it alone. Instead, I asked, “Why?”

She spun, eyes flashing. “Why what?”