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Abramov freezes the image and enlarges the numbers.

I recognize the pattern. “Claim transfer.”

He nods. “The old Blacklist used it when one man handed a person over to another. The code named the new man and told the drivers where to take them.”

“The men who came to Vera’s apartment to take her as a claim had fake clinic cards and patient papers.” Dmitri opens a photo taken that night. “They planned to put her in an ambulance and drive her out.”

The ambulance prowled at the corner near Vera’s building and fled when we came.

“The transfer code should point to one of the New Harbor clinics still operating,” I say.

Abramov brings up a map. “Three clinics are close enough.”

“Watch all three,” I say. “Don’t move yet.”

I look at the map again. “They were watching Vera’s apartment and waiting for the right moment to take her. Then our convoy arrived, pulled her out, and ruined the plan.”

Dmitri’s gaze stays on the clinic routes. “So they came back to burn whatever they’d left behind.”

“They’re cleaning the trail,” I say.

The office door opens as gray morning light reaches the narrow windows. Maksim walks in without a coat, his sleeves rolled once at the wrists, and takes in Marina’s photograph, the burning apartment, and the clinic map.

“What did we lose?” he asks.

“Vera’s home,” I say. “And whoever did it is already moving the next piece.”

“Her?” Maksim asks, pointing to Marina’s photograph.

“Vera’s colleague.” Dmitri nods. “She helped during the surgery and tried to warn her.”

Maksim reads the missed calls before setting the page down. His face changes very little, but he presses both hands against the desk and stays there for a moment.

“Elena met her once,” he says. “At the hospital foundation dinner.”

No one answers.

Maksim straightens. “Leonid traced Vera’s Blacklist entry. It used a real company from her father’s estate, but the debt was added after the company stopped operating.”

“You proved the debt is false?” I ask.

“Most of it. The company records are real, and the false papers were mixed into them. Leonid has to separate one from the other before he can annul the claim.”

Abramov sets his tablet down. “And the captains?”

“Petrov found movement inside the house,” Maksim says. “Two older captains have moved men without asking me. A third took money from one of our accounts and tried to hide it.”

Dima folds his arms. “Names?”

“Not yet,” Maksim says. “No one moves until we know who’s watching.”

I glance at Marina’s photograph, Vera’s burning apartment, and the map of clinics still open on the screen. Belov is testing how much of the Volkov house already belongs to him.

I look at Abramov. “Close the estate quietly. Check every delivery coming in, especially medical supplies, but keep the records normal. Limit access to the west wing, lower level, and service routes without changing the schedules.”

“Vendor access?” Abramov asks, lifting his tablet.

“Leave it open on paper.” I slide the clinic map toward him. “Belov needs to believe the door is still there.”