THE LAST MEAL ON ALASKAN WAY

Dante argued for forty-two minutes.

I counted.

“No.”

“That is not an argument,” I told him.

“It is the conclusion.”

“You don’t get conclusions about my life.”

“You are not trained for this.”

“I am trained to enter every office in Halcyon Tower without anyone noticing me.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It is exactly the thing Gabriel said we need.”

Sofia sat between us at the dining table, looking like a judge who regretted taking the case.

“There may be a compromise,” she said.

Dante turned. “No.”

I pointed at him. “See? He is addicted to the word.”

Sofia ignored us. “Mara goes in on her normal shift. No weapon. No confrontation. We monitor the building feeds from outside. If Gabriel confirms the ledger moves tonight, Mara only observes.”

“Only observes,” Dante repeated skeptically.

“Yes.”

I nodded. “Fine.”

Dante looked at me. “You are lying.”

“I am agreeing.”

“You are agreeing in the tone you used when you told me your refrigerator was full.”

I hated that he knew that tone already.

At ten-fifty that night, I walked into Halcyon Tower in my gray uniform carrying a mop bucket and supplies.

My supervisor, Calvin, met me by the service elevator.

He looked exhausted.

“Mara, where have you been?”

“Family emergency.”

“Police were here.”

My stomach tightened. “Why?”

“About the supply room break-in. Then some private security people asked questions too.”

“Did you tell them I was coming tonight?”

He hesitated.

“Calvin.”

“They said you were in danger. One was a captain.”

“Mercer?”

His face showed recognition.

My earpiece clicked once. Sofia’s signal: heard.

I forced a smile. “I need to clean twelve.”

“Actually, Rainer canceled service tonight.”

“Canceled?”

“Five minutes ago.”

My pulse sped up.

Another click in my ear.

Dante’s voice came quietly through the concealed receiver. “Leave.”

I pressed the elevator button.

“Bad connection,” I murmured.

“Mara.”

“Still bad.”

The service elevator opened.

I stepped inside.

Floor twelve was dark except for emergency lights.

The glass doors to Rainer Logistics were locked, but my master cleaning badge still worked because corporate had not yet removed the access profile.

The green light blinked.

I entered.

“Two minutes,” Sofia whispered in my ear. “Cameras looped.”

I rolled the cart down the corridor as if I belonged there.

That was the trick with cleaning work. People saw the cart, not the person.

Silas Kane’s temporary office had been assigned to the northwest corner suite according to Gabriel’s message. I had never cleaned it before.

The door stood open.

Inside, a desk lamp glowed.

No one was there.

“Mara, do not enter,” Dante said.

I entered.

The room smelled like cedar and coffee.

On the desk sat a blue leather notebook.

I stopped.

“That easy?” I whispered.

Sofia answered immediately. “Too easy.”

I did not touch it.

I looked around.

A framed photograph sat beside the notebook: Silas Kane and Gabriel at a marina.

Behind it, reflected in the glass, I saw movement.

Someone stood behind me.

I turned.

Captain Mercer filled the doorway.

He wore no uniform, just a dark overcoat.

“Mara Reyes.”

My mouth went dry.

“Captain.”

He smiled.

“You look like your father.”

Dante’s voice in my ear turned sharp. “Get out. Now.”

Mercer closed the door.

“You know,” he said, “Miguel used to clean up other people’s mistakes too.”

“My father was an electrician.”

“He was a nuisance.”

My hands tightened around the mop handle.

He glanced at the blue notebook.

“You came for that?”

“No. I came because somebody spilled coffee on eleven.”

His smile widened.

“Same sense of humor.”

He stepped toward me.

The earpiece went dead.

I knew immediately someone had jammed the signal.

Mercer noticed my expression.

“Your friends can’t hear you now.”

I backed toward the supply closet.

“What friends?”

“Moretti.”

He said the name with disgust.

Then another voice came from the darkness behind him.

“She means me.”

Gabriel Kane stepped into the doorway with a gun aimed at Mercer.

Mercer froze.

Gabriel’s silver ring caught the desk light.

“Move away from her,” Gabriel said.

Mercer laughed softly. “Your father was right. You never had the stomach.”

Gabriel’s hand did not shake.

“My father is wrong about many things.”

He looked at me.

“Take the notebook.”

I stared at the blue leather cover.

“You said it moves at midnight.”

“It does.”

“Is that the real ledger?”

Gabriel’s eyes flicked to Mercer.

“No.”

Mercer smiled.

“It is the trap.”

Before Gabriel appeared, I had noticed something else on Silas’s desk: a framed photograph of the Seattle waterfront taken decades earlier. A red circle had been drawn around Pier 52, the place where my father died. Beneath it, in faded ink, someone had written OLD ROUTE—DO NOT USE.

I snapped a picture before Mercer closed in. I did not understand its importance yet, but I understood enough to hide the phone inside my uniform pocket instead of leaving it on the desk.

Mercer saw the movement. “What did you take?”

“Trash,” I said.