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In the early afternoon, Irina comes into the office with the blood report. Everything is within range, and Vera finds no sign of infection.

“The fever may have come from overexertion,” she says. “You’re healing.”

She removes the drain, then the cannula, and covers both sites with clean dressings. After that, she makes me lie on the couch before I can test whether freedom includes standing.

By late afternoon, reports cover half my desk. At nightfall, we move the investigation into the estate library where maps, freight records, hospital files, and Blacklist documents spread across the long table.

Leonid’s message brings four names. The charities closed after Morozov was taken, then opened again weeks later under new names.

Morozov had used clean papers and fake charities to move guns, money, and men. He even copied records from Elena’s foundation so anyone checking the trail would think her charity had helped him.

The lie was meant to stain Elena’s name and weaken Maksim from inside his own house. Once Maksim took Morozov and broke the network apart, it should have died.

It didn’t.

Petrov finds customs papers for medical shipments billed through these reopened charities.

Dmitri brings the old freight logs because the new shipments are using the same routes Morozov once used.

Yuri works from the communications room below us, and his screen is displayed on the library monitor. He checks the delivery numbers from Dmitri’s records against orders from Vera’s hospital. Each match leads to another hospital file.

Vera checks each file as it appears on the monitor and tells Yuri which ones to print.

I pin the first clear map of Belov’s coup to the board, linking three clinics, one warehouse, the hospital, and an old freight route.

“Morozov used New Harbor Medical Aid, a shell company, to hide illegal shipments behind charity papers.” I tap the first arrow with the pointer, then trace the route across the map. “Sable Crown carried the cargo, and Vostok Meridian stored it under false records until it could be moved again.”

Vostok used to be a cleanup site, the kind of place where names changed, files vanished, and men came out as paperwork instead of bodies.

I set the new freight papers beside the hospital orders. “Belov kept Morozov’s system and changed the company names. Now the same routes are moving drugs, surgical supplies, burner phones, and rifles.”

I tap the route on the map. “We know this road. What we need now is the name of the new company using it.”

The printer beside the library shelves starts again as Yuri sends up more hospital records. Vera takes the pages, adds them to the files on the table, and places eleven patient records beside the supply orders.

“Someone ordered extra supplies before each of these patients came in.”

She checks the names, signatures, and treatment notes again. “Four of these patients never existed. There are no scans, lab results, medication records, or bed assignments. The others were used to make the larger orders look real.”

Her finger moves from the hospital orders to the freight logs. “They used fake patients to create extra stock, then took the extra out through these routes.”

“You should eat,” I say.

“Later.”

She’s been running on tea and crackers since morning. Apparently, medical training prepares people for marathons without the running.

Yuri’s voice comes through the secure speaker as the matches appear on the monitor. “I have patient names linked to drivers and handlers in the freight logs.”

Vera points to the admission dates. “Every one of them came in after freight moved.”

Yuri opens the injury reports beside the names. “Broken ribs, crushed fingers, chemical burns.”

“And this one had an abdominal wound listed as a workplace accident,” Vera says. “These weren’t ordinary patients.”

“Some were injured while moving goods,” I say.

She slides another page beside the first. “These three left in SeverMed ambulances before imaging. Two were listed as transfers to hospitals that never received them.”