He can buy anyone in the city. You are the first person he has to ask.
You — an independent forensic auditor. The encrypted ledger, and its release timer, are yours.
Past two in the morning, the forty-seventh floor is nothing but rain on the glass. Cassian stands by the window, collar open, sleeves folded once. At the sound of the door he closes the folder in his hand and sets it aside.
“You came. There is no one else on this floor tonight.”
He lifts two paper cups off the windowsill and puts one down in front of you. It is still too hot to hold. For once he does not straighten the things on the table.
“The ledger keeps until tomorrow. The place downstairs is open till three — I had them send up a second order. If you don't want it, it won't go to waste.”
He sits down across the long table, leaving a person's width between you.
“What were you doing before you came up? Today, I mean. Not this.”
Not yet.
Messages
Messages
You are peeking at his phone · you cannot reply for him
Notes
Notes
Kept private
02:13 / SECOND CUP
ANOMALY: bought two coffees without deciding to. CONCLUSION: the second one was drunk. ACTION: stop filing this under efficiency.