The analyst's name was Fenn.

He worked out of a room above a print shop three blocks from the estate, and he had done quiet work for the Carbone family for eleven years without once asking what the work was for.

Valentina sat across from him at six-twenty-seven.

He set a single printed page on the table between them.

"All three drives are identical," he said.

"Same files, copied three times.

I assume redundancy — if one was lost or damaged, the others would serve."

"What are the files?"

"Transaction records.

Formatted to look like internal Carbone ledger exports.

Dates, account numbers, transfer amounts, authorization signatures." He tapped the page.

"Covering a forty-month window.

Starting two months after Carlo Ferraro d*ed."

"Are they real?"

"The formatting is real.

The account numbers are real — they match Carbone accounts that exist." He paused.

"The transactions are not.

The amounts, the dates, the authorization signatures — fabricated.

Whoever built these knew exactly how your internal records are structured.

They replicated the format perfectly."

"But."

"But the authorization signatures use a version of your digital signature that was retired eighteen months ago.

You updated your internal signing protocol after the Mancini audit.

Whoever built these files didn't know that, or didn't have access to the new format." He pointed to a line on the page.

"Every single transfer is signed with the old key.

All forty months of them.

Including transfers that allegedly happened six months ago."

Valentina looked at the line.

"So anyone who knows about the signing update," she said, "would see the forgery immediately."

"Any competent accountant.

Any internal auditor.

Anyone who was present for the Mancini audit." He folded his hands.

"The files would pass a quick visual inspection.

They would not survive ten minutes of technical review."

"Renata wasn't planning on technical review," Valentina said.

"She was planning on a room full of men who would see numbers and signatures and react before anyone looked closely."

Fenn said nothing.

That wasn't his department.

Valentina picked up the page.

"I need a second document.

A comparison.

The fabricated signature alongside the current authorized signature, with a clear annotation showing the retirement date of the old key."

"I can have that in forty minutes."

"You have twenty-five."

He turned back to his screen without another word.

She called Marco from the corridor.

"How many of the seven families have an accountant or financial advisor they trust?" she said.

"I'd have to check—"

"Estimate."

"Four.

Maybe five."

"I need those names before eight o'clock.

I want to call each of them personally before the meeting starts." She looked at the time.

"Not to warn them off.

To invite them to bring their advisor tonight."

Marco was quiet for a moment.

"You want them to have someone in the room who can verify the forgery in real time."

"I want Renata to present fabricated evidence in front of the people best positioned to recognize it as fabricated." Valentina looked down the corridor.

"She built a trap.

I'm going to let her walk into it herself."

"And if she doesn't present the drives?

If she realizes they didn't arrive and pivots?"

"Then she walks into a room and accuses me of financial crimes with no evidence.

In front of seven families.

After organizing a meeting on false pretenses." Valentina allowed herself a small pause.

"Either way, tonight ends the same."

Marco made the calls.

At seven-fifty, Fenn handed her two documents.

The comparison was clean, clear, and damning.

Any person in that room with a basic understanding of document authentication would understand it within sixty seconds.

She put both documents in an envelope.

At eight-fifteen, she got into the car.

Dante drove.

He hadn't spoken since the corridor outside the east room.

She hadn't asked him to.

But as they pulled onto the main road, he said:

"Renata's two men are armed."

"I know."

"You're bringing Marco and one other."

"I know."

"That's not—"

"Dante." She looked at the window.

"If I walk in there with a show of force, I look like I'm intimidating the table.

I walk in with two men and an envelope, I look like someone who has nothing to hide." She turned to look at him.

"Which is exactly what I am."

He drove.

The city moved past the windows.

Lights coming on in the early evening.

A normal Thursday for everyone outside this car.

She held the envelope in her lap and thought about Lily pulling petals off a flower in the garden shade, juice box in hand, entirely unbothered.

Three years old.

Thirsty.

Reached for a drink.

And cracked the whole thing open without knowing it.