Page 119 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

Abramov points to the delivery memo. “Sable Crown carried the delivery route for New Harbor.”

Dmitri’s hand settles on the back of my chair. Everyone sees it, and no one says anything.

I turn to the map again. “So New Harbor isn’t the real target. It’s the name on the paper.”

Yuri nods. “Sable Crown moves the delivery.”

“And Vostok gives them a real place to meet, store things, move people, and hide activity,” Abramov says, stepping back from the table. He looks at Dmitri. “Oak and Tron give them men.”

Yuri nods. “A full chain.”

“And Patrick just showed us he can still touch every part of it,” I say. “That’s the message. Patrick still matters. He knows which clean names are tied to dirty work, and he wants everyone at that dinner to remember it.”

Dmitri looks at the unfinished hotel on the screen.

Dmitri looks at Abramov. His voice is calm when he speaks. “Show me every entrance.”

“Not yet,” I say.

Dmitri’s eyes move to me. “Cara.”

“I’m not saying leave it alone,” I tell him, stepping closer. “I’m saying don’t raid it blind. Patrick didn’t leave this open by mistake. If you move on that hotel now, you catch guards, empty halls, and maybe a few rented cameras. Patrick will know you found it, and he’ll disappear behind another account.”

Dmitri’s hand closes around the back of a chair. “Every hour we wait gives him time to reach Mikhail again.”

The words hurt, but I don’t step back. “That’s exactly how Patrick wants you. Angry, scared for your son, and easy to aim.”

Maksim watches us without speaking.

“Think,” I say, putting both hands on the table. “If Volkov storms an unfinished hotel tied to charity work and a retired judge, Morozov gets a headline before you get proof.”

Leonid adjusts his papers. “She’s right.”

Dmitri looks at him.

Leonid tilts his head. “I dislike it, but yes.”

I drag the files into order with my fingertips.

“Let Patrick think Velenko scared me off, nothing more,” I say.

Dima looks at the hotel map. “Is Patrick there?”

Maksim reaches for the permit sheet and turns it toward himself. “Is he?”

I study the layout again. The service road, the staffing sheets, and the repeated communication invoices.

“No,” I say, tracing the service route with one finger. “Patrick isn’t hiding there. Someone gives orders there.”

Yuri pulls another file, then stops. “There’s another logistics change.”

He clicks once. “A boring one.”

Kirill leans in from behind another screen. “Check this. The timestamp is two hours before the courier delivered.”

Abramov’s face hardens. “That’s payment cover.”

Patrick uses this rhythm again and again. His lies look like office work.