By mid-afternoon, Sadi was seated at a sleek glass desk in an office directly adjacent to Roman’s.

On her screen were the complete financial records of Arthur Pendelton’s logistics firm—a sprawling web of shell companies, maritime shipping routes, and real estate holdings that spanned from New York to Panama.

Roman walked in, carrying two cups of fresh espresso. He set one on her desk and leaned against the frame of her door, watching her work.

"Find anything interesting?" he asked.

"Arthur isn't acting alone," Sadi said, her fingers flying across her mechanical keyboard. "He’s small time. He runs a failing shipping company with twenty million in debt. There is no way he had the legal sophistication to draft that poison pill in Section fourteen."

She pointed to a line of numbers on her monitor.

"Look at the corporate entity that created the draft. It’s a holding firm called Aegis Global. It was registered in Delaware three weeks ago. The principal investor isn't Arthur."

Roman narrowed his eyes. "Who is it?"

"A panamanian corporation owned by the Chicago Syndicate," Sadi revealed, looking up at him. "Don Carmine Moretti’s primary rival, Vincent Rossi."

Roman’s posture instantly shifted. The casual CEO vanished, replaced by the lethal cartel boss.

"Vincent Rossi," Roman murmured, his voice flat as stone. "Rossi has been trying to break into the New York docks for six months. If Arthur had successfully transferred that federal investigation onto my books, the feds would have frozen my shipping permits. Rossi would have stepped in to take over the harbor leases legally."

"And Arthur was his sacrificial lamb," Sadi added. "Arthur gets his debts erased by Rossi in exchange for setting you up."

The heavy double doors of Roman’s office suddenly creaked open. Marco stepped into the doorway, his face pale and grim.

"Boss," Marco said low. "We have a problem."

Roman turned slowly. "Speak."

"Arthur Pendelton was just found in his car near the Brooklyn Navy Yard," Marco reported. "Two shots to the back of the head. And the NYPD just issued a press release—they found Arthur’s briefcase in the backseat, containing a signed copy of the South Harbor contract with your forged signature on it."

Sadi gasped, standing up from her desk. "They didn't need you to sign it at the diner! The diner meeting was just a distraction to establish a timeline! Rossi already had a forged copy ready!"

Roman didn't panic. He took a slow sip of his espresso, his face completely unreadable.

"So," Roman whispered, his dark eyes locking onto Sadi with a terrifying, thrilling intensity. "Rossi wants to play legal chess in the mud."

He set his espresso cup down and offered Sadi his hand.

"Come with me, counselor. It's time to go to work."