Chapter Text
Matthew arrived forty minutes late, carrying no racket.
The delay was deliberate.
So was the racket.
The tennis court belonged to a Colombian hotelier who had made his first fortune selling beachfront property he did not own and his second selling it again after the courts had decided the first sale was illegal. His house stood high in the hills outside Cartagena, hidden behind white walls, armed guards and enough flowering bougainvillea to soften the appearance of both.
The three clay courts were below the house, cut into the hillside in a series of broad terraces. From the lowest one, the Caribbean flashed between the palms. From the highest, guests could look down over every match while drinking beneath a shaded veranda.
It was a good place to be noticed.
Matthew stepped out of the borrowed Mercedes wearing cream trousers, an open-collared blue shirt and sunglasses that cost more than the guard at the gate earned in a month.
The trousers were linen and inappropriate for tennis.
That was deliberate too.
The guard looked behind him, perhaps expecting a driver.
Matthew tossed him the keys.
“Try not to scratch it.”
The guard caught them against his chest.
“You want me to park, señor?”
“I want you to sell it and divide the money between the staff.”
The guard stared.
Matthew pushed his sunglasses higher on his nose.
“Of course I want you to park it.”
He walked away before the man could answer.
Matthew Ellis was accustomed to being obeyed.
Or, at least, that was what people were meant to think.
His shoes crunched over the white gravel leading toward the villa. Music drifted from somewhere inside the house, accompanied by bursts of laughter and the clink of glasses. A waiter passed carrying champagne despite the fact it was not yet three in the afternoon.
Matthew took one from the tray.
The waiter turned.
“Señor—”
Matthew was already drinking.
He smiled over the rim.
“Thank you.”
The waiter hesitated, then continued toward the terrace.
Matthew followed him.
Three weeks of work had brought him here.
Three weeks of allowing himself to be seen in expensive hotel bars, private gambling rooms and restaurants where the menu had no prices. Three weeks of leaving reckless tips, losing just enough money at cards and telling contradictory stories about why a Swiss banker had suddenly appeared in Cartagena with no wife, no office and apparently nowhere else to be.
Matthew Ellis had grown up outside Geneva.
His family controlled a private bank old enough to have hidden money for dictators whose countries no longer existed. His father was severe, his mother absent, his brothers obedient and dull. Matthew had been the youngest and the problem.
There had been investigations.
Missing funds.
Accounts opened beneath false names.
Payments routed through Liechtenstein, Panama and Cyprus.
No formal charges had survived.
Money had made certain of that.
But the scandal had been enough for the family to remove him from the bank.
According to the stories circulating through Cartagena, Matthew had taken several million euros, abandoned a fiancée selected by his father and fled Europe before he could be forced back into respectable employment.
Some versions said he had stolen the money.
Others said it belonged to him.
Matthew never corrected anyone.
Nothing attracted criminals quite like a wealthy man who appeared to have escaped his own punishment.
The terrace overlooked the courts.
Carlos Mendez stood near the railing in tennis whites, waving one hand as though Matthew’s lateness had become a personal betrayal.
“You came.”
Matthew removed his sunglasses.
“You invited me.”
“An hour ago.”
“I was asleep.”
“It is three in the afternoon.”
“Yes.”
Carlos looked at the champagne in his hand.
“You have a match.”
“So?”
“You cannot play drinking champagne.”
Matthew looked down at the court.
A man in white waited beside the net, leaning on his racket.
“He looks patient.”
“He has been waiting thirty minutes.”
“Then another five won’t hurt him.”
Carlos stared.
Matthew handed him the empty glass.
“Do you have a racket?”
Carlos took the glass automatically.
“You didn’t bring one?”
“I don’t own one.”
“You told me you played.”
“I said I knew how.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is close enough.”
Carlos muttered something in Spanish and motioned to an attendant.
Matthew moved to the railing.
Below them, the clay courts glowed red beneath the sun. Palm leaves shifted in the breeze, casting restless shadows across the back fences. Beyond the property, the land descended toward the sea in crowded roofs and green hills.
Matthew allowed himself a lazy glance across the veranda.
Ten guests.
Two guards.
Three members of the household staff.
And Teddy.
He sat at the far end beneath a slow-moving ceiling fan, half turned away from the gathering. He wore dark trousers and a white linen shirt with the sleeves pushed back to his elbows. A glass stood untouched near his hand.
The photographs had always made him appear harder.
They caught him outside government buildings, beside armoured vehicles or walking through airports with armed men surrounding him. His expression in every image had been closed and watchful.
In person, the watchfulness remained.
The rest was different.
He was younger than the photographs made him seem. Or perhaps simply more alive. His hair curled slightly in the Colombian heat. There was a faint scar near one eyebrow and another beneath his jaw.
Someone beside him was speaking.
Teddy wasn’t listening.
He was looking at Matthew.
Not openly enough to be impolite.
Not casually enough to be mistaken.
Matthew let his eyes pass over him.
No recognition.
No interest.
Then he turned back to Carlos.
“Who am I playing?”
“Alberto Mejía.”
“Should I know him?”
“He owns half the commercial property in Barranquilla.”
“So no.”
Carlos gave him a look.
“You said you wanted introductions.”
“I said I might be persuaded to meet interesting people.”
“Alberto is interesting.”
“Does he cheat?”
“At business?”
“At tennis.”
“Both.”
“Then perhaps he is interesting.”
An attendant arrived carrying three rackets.
Matthew took the oldest one.
Carlos frowned.
“That grip is worn.”
“Then no one will blame the racket when I lose.”
“You plan to lose?”
Matthew glanced once more toward the far side of the veranda.
Teddy had looked away.
Good.
“I haven’t decided.”
He went downstairs.
Alberto was short, deeply tanned and nearly sixty. He had the square shoulders of a man who trained every morning and the expression of a man accustomed to winning against people who worked for him.
He examined Matthew’s clothes.
“You’re playing in that?”
Matthew looked down at himself.
“I hope so. Changing now would be embarrassing.”
“You need shoes.”
“These are shoes.”
“Tennis shoes.”
Matthew lifted one foot. The soft leather loafer was already dusted red.
“I’ll be careful.”
Alberto laughed.
It was not friendly.
Carlos arrived behind them carrying a pair of white tennis shoes.
“Put these on before you break your neck.”
Matthew sat on the bench.
“Whose are they?”
“Mine.”
“They’re ugly.”
“They’re shoes.”
“They look medical.”
“Put them on.”
Matthew obeyed with the long-suffering air of a man being forced into an unreasonable compromise.
He left his shirt untucked.
Kept the top buttons open.
Took another glass of champagne from a passing waiter before stepping onto the court.
Alberto watched him drink.
“Are you taking this seriously?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Matthew handed the glass to the ball boy.
“But I am very competitive.”
The boy tried not to smile.
Alberto served first.
The ball came hard and flat toward Matthew’s backhand.
Matthew moved late.
His return struck the frame and sailed over the back fence.
Alberto smiled.
“Fifteen-love.”
Matthew looked over his shoulder.
“Does someone collect those?”
The ball boy ran toward the gate.
“Apparently.”
The second serve came down the middle.
Matthew returned it into the net.
The third he sent long.
The fourth he did not touch at all.
Alberto won the opening game in less than ninety seconds.
Carlos stood outside the fence with both hands on his hips.
“You said you could play.”
“I can.”
“You haven’t hit one ball into the court.”
“The afternoon is young.”
On the terrace, several guests had begun watching.
Teddy was among them.
Matthew took the balls from the boy and walked to the baseline.
He bounced one twice.
Served into the net.
Alberto laughed.
Matthew looked at the racket.
“Is this yours, Carlos?”
“No.”
“Good.”
His second serve was soft enough that Alberto stepped inside the baseline to attack it. Matthew anticipated the return, reached the ball and sent it high.
Too high.
Alberto smashed it past him.
Love-fifteen.
Matthew grinned.
Not the controlled smile Jonathan Pine used when he wanted someone to underestimate him. Matthew Ellis smiled like a man enjoying himself.
He played the next point better.
Not well.
Better.
He kept the ball in play for nine shots, moving without hurry and allowing Alberto to push him around the court. On the tenth, Matthew attempted a drop shot that fell on his own side of the net.
“Love-thirty,” Alberto said.
“I dislike that net.”
“It seems very fond of you.”
Matthew laughed.
He served again.
This time the ball landed cleanly in the corner.
Alberto returned cross-court.
Matthew reached it and struck a forehand with enough power to show what he had been withholding.
The ball passed Alberto and hit the baseline.
Alberto turned to look at the mark.
Matthew had already walked back to serve.
“Fifteen-thirty.”
The smile disappeared from Alberto’s face.
Matthew gave him the next point.
Then the game.
He gave him the following game too.
Not obviously.
A late return.
A forehand pushed a few inches wide.
A difficult volley he almost reached.
Alberto settled into confidence.
That mattered.
A man who believed he understood his opponent stopped looking for surprises.
Matthew moved through the next several games with easy carelessness. He joked with Carlos between points. Complained about the shoes. Asked the ball boy where he could find decent music later that evening.
He drank water only after Carlos threatened to remove the champagne.
He lost the first set six games to two.
Alberto looked pleased.
The guests on the veranda had mostly lost interest.
Teddy had not.
Matthew sat beneath the awning and pressed a cold bottle to the side of his neck.
“Another set?” Alberto asked.
Carlos answered before Matthew could.
“He has had enough.”
Matthew opened one eye.
“Have I?”
“You’re not taking it seriously.”
“I told him I wouldn’t.”
Alberto rested both hands on the handle of his racket.
“I have a meeting in forty minutes.”
“Then we should play quickly.”
Alberto smiled.
“You want to lose twice?”
Matthew took the cold bottle from his neck and drank.
“I want to see whether the first time was luck.”
Carlos swore softly.
That was the kind of remark Matthew Ellis would make.
Careless. Provocative. Just arrogant enough to demand an answer.
Alberto returned to the court.
Matthew followed.
As he crossed the baseline, he glanced toward the terrace.
Teddy leaned forward now, his forearms resting on his knees.
Watching.
Matthew looked away before their eyes met.
Alberto served.
Matthew returned deep to the corner.
Alberto recovered and sent it back toward the centre.
Matthew stepped forward and struck early.
The ball landed on the sideline.
Fifteen-love.
Alberto stared.
Matthew walked back to receive.
“You didn’t play that shot in the first set.”
“I was still learning the racket.”
The next point lasted twelve shots.
Matthew won it with a short, angled volley.
Thirty-love.
Alberto served harder.
Matthew returned harder.
The sound changed. Less of a loose slap, more of a clean crack as the ball met the centre of the strings.
Alberto managed two more shots before Matthew passed him down the line.
Forty-love.
Carlos laughed from outside the court.
Alberto turned toward him.
“Did you know?”
Carlos lifted both hands.
“He told me he could play.”
Alberto looked back at Matthew.
“You let me win.”
Matthew smiled.
“You sound disappointed.”
The smile did more than the words.
It kept the insult light.
A wealthy fool teasing another wealthy man. Nothing serious. Nothing worth anger.
Matthew won the game.
Then the next.
He allowed Alberto one point in the third game and two in the fourth. He did not overpower him. That would have looked like performance. He simply stopped making mistakes.
He returned everything.
Ran down balls that should have passed him.
Changed the pace whenever Alberto found a rhythm.
All while appearing as though the game required little more effort than finishing a drink.
The score reached four games to love.
Alberto bent over, breathing heavily.
“You are a bastard.”
“I have been called worse.”
“You planned this.”
“Of course not.”
Matthew looked toward Carlos.
“Tell him.”
Carlos was laughing too hard to answer.
Movement on the terrace caught Matthew’s attention.
Teddy stood.
The man beside him continued speaking for several seconds before realising he no longer had an audience.
Teddy walked to the railing.
He had put on sunglasses, but Matthew could feel the weight of his attention.
Matthew bounced the ball.
Alberto straightened.
“Finish it.”
“You have a meeting.”
“I have time.”
“No, you don’t.”
Matthew served wide.
Alberto lunged for the return. The ball rose high.
Matthew could have smashed it.
Instead, he stepped beneath it and sent an easy shot down the middle.
Alberto recovered.
They played another fifteen strokes.
Matthew gave him every opportunity to win the point.
Alberto finally drove the ball into the net.
He swore.
Matthew smiled.
“Perhaps it was luck.”
Alberto threw his head back and laughed.
The tension broke.
That was deliberate too.
A useful man could be embarrassed.
He should never feel humiliated.
Matthew won the second set six-one and stopped before Alberto could demand a third.
They met at the net.
Alberto gripped his hand.
“You should have warned me.”
“You wouldn’t have played.”
“I would have bet more.”
“That’s why I didn’t warn you.”
Alberto pointed a finger at him.
“You’re dangerous.”
“No.”
Matthew collected the champagne glass he had abandoned earlier.
“Merely dishonest.”
He drank.
Alberto stared for a moment, then laughed again.
On the terrace above, Teddy was still watching.
Matthew sat to remove Carlos’s shoes.
He made no attempt to approach Teddy.
That would spoil it.
The cover depended on the appearance that Matthew wanted nothing from anyone. He had money. Freedom. No family he intended to return to and no respectable future left to protect.
Men like Teddy were surrounded by supplicants.
Matthew would not become another one.
Carlos dropped onto the bench beside him.
“You enjoyed that.”
“Very much.”
“You let him believe he was good.”
“He is good.”
“You could have beaten him in twenty minutes.”
“That would have been rude.”
“Taking his money at dinner won’t be?”
Matthew looked at him.
“Are we playing cards?”
“We are now.”
Alberto had already begun climbing toward the house.
Carlos lowered his voice.
“You have another admirer.”
Matthew followed his glance as though he had forgotten the terrace existed.
Teddy stood near the top of the stone steps.
He was no longer wearing sunglasses.
His eyes were fixed directly on Matthew.
“Who is he?” Matthew asked.
Carlos studied his face, searching for some sign of recognition.
“Teddy.”
“Only Teddy?”
“That is enough here.”
Matthew looked back at the man on the steps.
Teddy had heard Carlos.
He was close enough now.
A smile touched his mouth.
Not a broad one. Something more private. Amused by the question.
Matthew rose in his bare feet, carrying Carlos’s ugly shoes in one hand and his champagne in the other.
He did not straighten his shirt.
Did not attempt to look respectable.
Teddy descended the final steps.
Two men waited at the top, but neither followed.
“You made a fortune from the first set,” Teddy said.
His voice was British, though softened by years spent elsewhere.
Matthew glanced toward Alberto.
“I didn’t bet.”
“You should have.”
“That would have required telling him.”
Teddy stopped beside the bench.
Up close, his attention was more difficult to dismiss.
He did not glance away. Most people did, eventually. Teddy looked as though he had found something unexpected and intended to study it until he understood why.
Carlos stood.
“Teddy, this is Matthew Ellis.”
Teddy held out a hand.
“Matthew.”
No surname.
Matthew liked that.
He shifted the shoes into the same hand as the glass before taking Teddy’s.
“Teddy.”
The handshake was brief, but the eye contact was not.
Teddy’s gaze moved over him slowly.
The bare feet dusted red with clay.
The expensive trousers ruined at the cuffs.
The open shirt.
The face of a man who had just spent an hour pretending not to care whether he won.
“You’re Swiss,” Teddy said.
“On my better days.”
“And the worse ones?”
“Ask my family.”
Teddy’s mouth moved at one corner.
“I hear they’ve been asking for you.”
“That sounds like them.”
“You left suddenly.”
“Have we met before?”
“No.”
“Then you’ve been talking about me.”
“I asked.”
Matthew released his hand.
“Why?”
Teddy glanced toward the court.
“You were interesting.”
It was a simple answer.
No attempt to disguise it as business.
Matthew took a drink.
“Carlos told me you were watching.”
“Carlos talks too much.”
Carlos made an offended sound.
Matthew looked at Teddy over the rim of his glass.
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Teddy did not appear embarrassed by it.
That surprised Matthew more than it should have.
“What did you see?”
“A man lose badly because he wanted everyone to stop paying attention.”
Carlos went quiet.
Matthew lowered the glass.
“And then?”
“He started playing when he realised one person hadn’t.”
There it was.
Not merely observation.
Recognition.
Teddy had understood the construction of the afternoon almost perfectly.
Not why Matthew had done it.
But how.
Matthew smiled.
This time it was real enough to be dangerous.
“You think highly of yourself.”
“I’m usually surrounded by men who want my attention.”
“And you assume I’m one of them?”
“I don’t assume anything.”
Teddy took in the champagne, the borrowed shoes and the careless posture.
“But you noticed when I arrived.”
“I notice expensive cars.”
“My car wasn’t visible from the court.”
“Then perhaps I noticed Carlos becoming nervous.”
Carlos looked between them.
“I was not nervous.”
Neither acknowledged him.
Teddy’s eyes stayed on Matthew.
“You changed the match after I sat down.”
“Alberto was becoming insufferable.”
“He had been insufferable for the entire first set.”
“You were listening?”
“To parts.”
“What parts?”
“The parts where you claimed you had never played seriously.”
“I haven’t.”
“You’re lying.”
Matthew smiled wider.
“Now you sound like my father.”
Teddy’s expression changed.
A fraction.
Interest sharpening.
The story of Matthew’s family was already travelling through the right circles. A banking family in Geneva. An internal scandal. Millions moved through private accounts. A son who had vanished rather than submit to another round of lawyers and family discipline.
Some believed Matthew had run.
Others believed he had been sent away.
The uncertainty was the useful part.
“You don’t like your father?” Teddy asked.
“I don’t think about him.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Matthew slipped his sunglasses back on.
The gesture put a barrier between them, though not a convincing one.
“My father believes responsibility is an inheritance.”
“And you?”
“I believe inheritance is what people call money when they want you to feel guilty about spending it.”
Teddy laughed.
Quietly at first.
Then with genuine surprise.
The sound made him look younger.
Carlos stared at both of them.
“I have never heard you laugh at anything I said.”
“You’re not as funny as you think,” Teddy told him.
Matthew looked at Teddy through the tinted lenses.
“You are.”
“Am I?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Teddy’s smile remained.
“You don’t seem particularly worried about making a good impression.”
“On whom?”
“Anyone.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“What do you worry about?”
Matthew considered pretending to think.
Instead, he lifted his glass.
“Running out of champagne.”
Carlos groaned.
Teddy looked toward the veranda.
A waiter stood near the railing.
Teddy raised two fingers.
The waiter disappeared inside.
Matthew tilted his head.
“You’ve solved my greatest fear.”
“I’m told I’m good at solving problems.”
“So am I.”
“I know.”
The answer was too quick.
Matthew looked at him over the top of his sunglasses.
Teddy did not retreat from it.
Carlos shifted beside them, suddenly unnecessary and aware of it.
“I should find Alberto.”
Neither man stopped him.
Carlos walked toward the villa.
Matthew watched him leave.
When he turned back, Teddy had moved slightly closer.
Not enough to draw comment.
Enough that their conversation no longer belonged to anyone else.
“You worked in banking,” Teddy said.
“I attended meetings.”
“In Geneva.”
“Among other places.”
“There was an investigation.”
“There are always investigations. It keeps the lawyers employed.”
“Your name appeared in three.”
“Only three?”
Teddy smiled.
“Two companies collapsed.”
“Bad management.”
“Accounts disappeared.”
“Careless accounting.”
“Several hundred million euros were moved through holding companies no one could trace.”
Matthew looked impressed.
“That sounds clever.”
“Was it?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Teddy’s eyes rested on him.
There was no hostility in the scrutiny. Teddy was enjoying this. Matthew could see it in the faint warmth beneath his controlled expression.
“Your family said you acted alone,” Teddy said.
“My family says many things when newspapers ask questions.”
“Did you?”
“Act alone?”
“Yes.”
Matthew looked toward the sea.
The sun had begun to drop, casting long shadows across the courts. The Caribbean had softened from hard blue to silver. Music drifted down from the villa, slow and heavy with percussion.
He shrugged.
“I was never charged.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only answer that matters.”
Teddy went still for a moment.
There.
That was what the cover had been built to produce.
Not admiration.
Recognition.
High-level criminals did not trust innocence. They trusted appetite, leverage and shared vulnerability. A supposedly disgraced banker with family money and no moral attachment to where it came from was more useful than any respectable businessman.
Especially one clever enough to escape charges.
“You came to Colombia for work?” Teddy asked.
“I came because Europe became boring.”
“And Colombia isn’t?”
“Not yet.”
“What do you do when you’re bored?”
“Spend money.”
“Your own?”
Matthew grinned.
“Whenever possible.”
Another laugh.
The waiter arrived with a bottle of champagne and two fresh glasses.
Teddy took the bottle himself.
He poured one for Matthew.
Then one for himself.
Matthew looked at Teddy’s glass.
“You don’t strike me as someone who drinks in the afternoon.”
“I don’t.”
“But you’re making an exception.”
Teddy lifted the glass.
“You went to considerable effort to get my attention.”
Matthew touched his glass to Teddy’s.
“And now that I have it?”
Teddy did not drink immediately.
He looked at Matthew over the rims of their glasses.
“Now I’m deciding what to do with you.”
The words should have sounded threatening.
They did not.
Not entirely.
Matthew drank.
The champagne was cold and expensive.
He walked toward the edge of the terrace path, still barefoot. Teddy came with him without being invited.
Below them, the ball boy had begun brushing the clay smooth, erasing every mark from the match.
“You’re staying in Cartagena?” Teddy asked.
“For now.”
“Where?”
“The Santa Clara.”
“For three weeks?”
“The sheets are good.”
“You could rent a house.”
“Then I would need staff.”
“You can afford staff.”
“I can afford many things I don’t want.”
Teddy looked at him.
“Such as responsibility.”
“Especially responsibility.”
That part of Matthew Ellis was not subtle.
He had left his family. Left the bank. Left a fiancée whose photographs had appeared beside his in society pages across Europe. He lived from hotel to hotel, drank too much, gambled, slept late and treated money as though it regenerated overnight.
A man with nothing tying him down.
Nothing to threaten except his freedom.
Teddy was still studying him.
“You’re trying very hard to look as though you don’t care about anything.”
Matthew turned.
The directness of it cut through the performance.
“And you’re trying very hard to understand someone you met five minutes ago.”
“It’s been longer than five minutes.”
“You were watching from a distance. That doesn’t count.”
“It does to me.”
The words settled between them.
Teddy did not smile this time.
Neither did Matthew.
The attraction was not yet something that could be named. It was attention with an edge to it. A curiosity neither man seemed inclined to hide.
Matthew had planned for Teddy to find him useful.
He had not planned for this.
Teddy looked down at Matthew’s feet.
“You’re going to ruin those trousers.”
“They were ugly.”
“They were expensive.”
“So?”
Teddy smiled again.
“You really don’t care.”
“About trousers?”
“Money.”
“My family has more.”
“You hate them.”
Matthew drank.
“Do you always interrogate strangers over champagne?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
“And am I?”
Teddy’s gaze returned to his face.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Matthew could have looked away.
Instead he let the moment hold.
A voice called Teddy’s name from the veranda.
One of the men who had been waiting near his table stood beside the doors, a phone in his hand. His expression suggested the call mattered.
Teddy did not turn.
The man called again.
“Teddy.”
“I heard you.”
The answer was calm.
The man stopped speaking.
Matthew glanced between them.
“You should take it.”
“I should.”
Teddy made no move.
“You won’t?”
“In a moment.”
Matthew smiled.
“I’m flattered.”
“You intended to be.”
Teddy reached into his pocket and removed a small card.
No company name.
Only a handwritten address.
He held it out.
“Dinner tonight.”
Matthew looked at the card but did not take it.
“Is that an invitation?”
“Yes.”
“It sounded like an order.”
“Would that make you more likely to come?”
“Less.”
Teddy’s eyes narrowed with amusement.
“Dinner tonight, if you have nothing better to do.”
Matthew took the card.
Their fingers touched.
The contact lasted no more than a second, but Teddy’s attention dropped to it.
So did Matthew’s.
The address was in the old city.
Private residence.
Not a restaurant.
“What time?” Matthew asked.
“Eight.”
“I’m always late.”
“You weren’t late today.”
“I was forty minutes late.”
“You arrived at the gate an hour ago.”
Matthew looked up.
Teddy smiled.
“I asked the guard.”
“You have been investigating me.”
“Only a little.”
“That’s disappointing.”
Teddy laughed under his breath.
“Come at eight, Matthew.”
He turned toward the villa.
The man with the phone was still waiting.
At the top of the steps, Teddy stopped and looked back.
Matthew stood beside the court in his ruined trousers, Carlos’s borrowed shoes hanging from one hand and Teddy’s card in the other.
For the first time that afternoon, Matthew made no effort to appear careless.
He simply looked back.
Teddy held his gaze for a moment.
Then he went inside.
Matthew remained where he was.
The plan had worked.
Better than expected.
Teddy had noticed him, approached him and offered a private meeting without Matthew once asking for an introduction.
Angela would call it a clean entry.
A successful first contact.
But she had not stood close enough to see the way Teddy looked at him.
She had not heard the unguarded interest in his voice when he said Matthew’s name.
And she did not know that Jonathan Pine, buried beneath the champagne, family scandals and expensive carelessness of Matthew Ellis, had looked at Teddy and felt interested in return.
That was not part of the operation.
Matthew slipped the card into his shirt pocket.
Then he called to the waiter for another drink.
-
Matthew arrived at eight twenty-three.
He had considered eight fifteen, but that looked calculated. Eight thirty would be rude, even for the man he was pretending to be.
Twenty-three minutes suggested he had made an effort and failed.
The taxi stopped outside a narrow house in Cartagena’s old city, its ochre walls faded by salt and heat. The street was barely wide enough for one car. Wooden balconies leaned over it from both sides, heavy with plants and washing that stirred in the evening breeze.
There was no name beside the door.
No number.
Only dark green paint, brass fittings and a security camera tucked beneath the balcony.
Matthew paid the driver with a hundred-dollar bill.
The driver stared at it.
“I don’t have change.”
“I don’t want any.”
He stepped out before the man could decide whether to thank him or follow him home.
The taxi pulled away slowly.
Matthew stood in the street holding a bottle of wine by the neck.
He had bought it from the hotel restaurant without asking the price. French. Old enough to impress someone who cared and expensive enough to reinforce everything people had heard about Matthew Ellis.
He did not know whether Teddy drank wine.
That did not matter.
Turning up empty-handed would have looked entitled.
Turning up with something thoughtful would have looked eager.
Matthew had selected the middle ground: something expensive chosen with no apparent thought at all.
He looked up at the camera.
The small red light blinked.
Matthew raised the bottle in greeting.
The door opened almost immediately.
The man standing behind it had been at the villa that afternoon. Mid-thirties. Colombian. Broad shoulders beneath a dark shirt. No visible weapon, though the cut of his clothes suggested one beneath his left arm.
His gaze moved from Matthew’s face to the bottle and then down to his clothes.
Matthew had changed, though not as much as the invitation deserved.
Dark trousers. Pale shirt. No jacket. The collar open. His hair still damp from a shower he had taken after spending an hour in the hotel bar deciding whether to come.
The indecision had been an act.
Mostly.
“Señor Ellis.”
“Matthew.”
The man did not react.
“Your telephone.”
Matthew reached into his pocket.
“Will I get it back?”
“When you leave.”
“That depends how dinner goes.”
The man held out his hand.
Matthew gave him the phone.
It was clean. No secure applications. No contact with Angela. Nothing that would cause trouble if someone decided to search it rather than simply place it in a box.
The man gestured toward Matthew’s watch.
Matthew looked down at it.
“My watch?”
“Please.”
“What do you think it does?”
“We prefer no electronics inside.”
“It tells the time.”
The man waited.
Matthew removed it and placed it in his palm.
The watch had cost forty-eight thousand Swiss francs.
The money was not real to Matthew, but the loss would be.
Angela had complained about the expense when he requested it. Matthew had told her cheap watches made rich men nervous.
The guard placed it in a small drawer beside the phone.
“Anything else?”
Matthew considered.
“I’ve got a room key and several bad habits.”
The guard looked at him without amusement.
“No weapons?”
“Not tonight.”
It earned him the slightest pause.
Then the man stepped aside.
Matthew entered.
The door closed behind him with a heavy wooden sound.
Inside, the house was cooler than the street. The front hall opened into a courtyard without a roof. Rainwater had darkened the stone around a square pool. Orange trees grew from large clay pots, and small lights had been fixed among their leaves.
The place did not resemble the home of a man London had spent years trying to understand.
No gold.
No marble.
No wall of expensive paintings chosen to prove their owner understood art.
The furniture was old and plainly used. Books had been stacked on a low table beside an armchair. A pair of reading glasses rested on top of them. One wall displayed black-and-white photographs of Cartagena before the hotels, cruise ships and restored façades.
Matthew slowed beside one.
A crowded market.
Children barefoot in the road.
A church tower rising behind washing lines.
“Teddy’s grandfather took that.”
The guard had followed him into the courtyard.
Matthew glanced back.
“I didn’t know I was getting the tour.”
“You aren’t.”
“Pity. You have a gift.”
The man ignored that.
“This way.”
He led Matthew along a covered corridor toward the back of the house. Music played somewhere out of sight. An old recording, soft guitar and a woman singing in Spanish.
The corridor opened onto another courtyard, larger than the first. A table had been set beneath a balcony. Two places, not three.
Teddy stood beside it pouring water into a glass.
He had changed from the clothes he wore at the tennis court. Dark trousers again, a light grey shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. Barefoot.
Matthew noticed that first.
The man who commanded armed guards had come to dinner without shoes.
Teddy looked up.
His gaze settled on Matthew’s face, then moved slowly down.
“You came.”
“You sound surprised.”
“You’re late.”
“I warned you.”
“You also arrived outside at eight twelve and spent eleven minutes walking around the block.”
Matthew stopped.
The guard left without being dismissed.
The music continued from a room beyond the courtyard.
Matthew held up the wine.
“I was looking for somewhere that sold this.”
“You bought that at your hotel.”
Matthew looked at the label as though he had forgotten.
“Then I was lost.”
Teddy’s smile appeared slowly.
“You were deciding whether to come.”
It was not phrased as a question.
Matthew crossed the courtyard.
“I’m here.”
“Yes.”
Teddy said it quietly.
His attention remained fixed on Matthew for another moment before he reached for the bottle.
Their hands touched around the neck.
Teddy took it.
“Do you like Bordeaux?”
“No idea.”
“You bought it.”
“The waiter said it was expensive.”
“That was enough?”
“It usually is.”
Teddy examined the year.
“This costs more than most people here earn in six months.”
“Then they should charge more for their labour.”
Teddy looked at him.
Matthew pulled out one of the chairs.
“Are we drinking it or discussing its social implications?”
Teddy laughed and carried the bottle to a side table.
“We’ll drink it.”
“Good.”
“But not with dinner.”
Matthew looked at the unopened bottle.
“Why not?”
“It needs time.”
“I thought the point of wine was that it had already waited.”
Teddy reached for a different bottle, younger and Colombian.
Matthew sat.
“No staff?”
“They’ve gone.”
“Your man at the door hasn’t.”
“He doesn’t cook.”
“Neither do I.”
“I know.”
“You’ve done more research.”
“A little.”
“How little?”
Teddy poured the wine.
“You spent three months at Le Rosey before being asked to leave.”
“I was fourteen.”
“You stole a teacher’s car.”
“I borrowed it.”
“You drove it into a fountain.”
“The brakes were unfamiliar.”
“You were fourteen.”
“I was precocious.”
Teddy set the glass in front of him.
Matthew picked it up but did not drink.
“And after that?”
“Zurich. London. New York. Back to Geneva. You joined the family bank at twenty-six and were on the board by thirty.”
“I attended board meetings. It’s not the same as participating.”
“You managed private clients.”
“They liked me.”
“Three of them were later investigated.”
“Unlucky.”
“One disappeared.”
“Very unlucky.”
Teddy sat opposite.
The candlelight caught the faint scar near his eyebrow.
“Your family removed you from the board.”
“They asked me to take time away.”
“For how long?”
“They didn’t say.”
“And you came here.”
“I went to several places first.”
“Monaco.”
“Dull.”
“Panama.”
“Wet.”
“Miami.”
“Full of people from Monaco.”
That made Teddy smile.
Matthew took a drink.
The wine was better than he expected.
The courtyard walls cut out most of the city noise, though not all of it. A motorbike passed outside. Somewhere nearby, a man called to another from a balcony. Music drifted from a restaurant across the street, mixing with Teddy’s record.
It felt strangely private.
Not secure.
Private.
There was a difference.
Matthew had expected more people. An associate. A lawyer. Someone meant to witness whatever offer Teddy intended to make.
Instead there were two plates, two glasses and a bowl of limes on the table.
“Where is everyone?” Matthew asked.
“Who were you expecting?”
“Someone to explain why I’m here.”
“You think I need someone else to do that?”
“I don’t know what you need.”
Teddy leaned back.
“No. You don’t.”
For a moment they listened to the music.
Matthew could feel Teddy watching him again.
It was less concealed now. Teddy had made no secret of his interest at the court, but the villa had been full of other people. Here there was no need for the glances to appear accidental.
Matthew was used to being looked at.
Matthew Ellis encouraged it. He dressed for it, spent for it, spoke with the casual insolence of someone who had never needed to ask permission.
Jonathan Pine distrusted it.
Teddy’s attention reached both men.
“You’re different tonight,” Teddy said.
“Disappointing?”
“Quieter.”
“I’m hungry.”
“That’s all?”
Matthew looked around the courtyard.
“You have guards, cameras and a man at the door who wanted my watch.”
“He liked your watch.”
“He can’t have it.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“And this isn’t a restaurant.”
“No.”
“You invited a man you’d never met into your home.”
Teddy lifted his glass.
“I met you.”
“Briefly.”
“You made an impression.”
“That was the idea.”
Teddy held the glass halfway to his mouth.
Matthew saw the words land.
There was no reason to deny it now. Teddy had already understood the tennis match. Continuing the lie would make Matthew seem less interesting, not more.
Teddy drank.
“You admit it.”
“I wanted to meet people.”
“Carlos could have introduced you.”
“Carlos introduces everyone.”
“You wanted me.”
The words were calm.
Too calm.
Matthew looked across the candle between them.
“I wanted your attention.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Attention is useful.”
“And wanting me?”
Matthew smiled.
“You are very direct over dinner.”
“You were direct this afternoon.”
“I was playing tennis.”
“You were playing everyone.”
“I lost the first set.”
“Exactly.”
A woman appeared in the doorway carrying two plates.
Matthew had not heard her approach.
She was perhaps sixty, dressed simply, with greying hair tied behind her neck. Teddy stood at once and took the plates from her.
He thanked her in Spanish and kissed her cheek.
She said something to him, then looked at Matthew.
Her eyes travelled over him with the frankness of someone who had known Teddy long enough to distrust strangers on his behalf.
Teddy answered her.
She did not look convinced.
“What did she say?” Matthew asked when she left.
“That you look expensive.”
Matthew glanced at his shirt.
“She has good taste.”
“She also said you look like trouble.”
“She has excellent taste.”
Teddy set a plate before him.
Fish, rice, plantain and something rich with garlic and lime.
Matthew had expected an elaborate meal.
This looked like food someone actually wanted to eat.
He picked up his fork.
“You didn’t tell her what I do.”
“I’m not sure what you do.”
“I move money.”
“For whom?”
“Anyone who has it.”
“And where?”
“Anywhere it needs to go.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“Banking often does when described accurately.”
Teddy did not start eating.
He watched Matthew taste the fish.
“Well?”
Matthew chewed.
“Your cook dislikes me but feeds me well.”
“She doesn’t dislike you.”
“She warned you about me.”
“She warns me about everyone.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It’s why she’s usually right.”
Matthew ate again.
He had skipped lunch because Matthew Ellis often forgot meals while drinking, gambling or sleeping. Jonathan Pine had regretted the decision for the last two hours.
Teddy finally began eating.
For several minutes the conversation faded.
Matthew noticed the way Teddy ate. Slowly. No wasted movement. He did not touch the rice until he had finished half the fish. He drank water more often than wine.
Details without value.
Jonathan collected them anyway.
“You were engaged,” Teddy said.
Matthew nearly laughed.
“Do you always question guests between courses?”
“There are no courses.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You were engaged.”
“I’ve been told.”
“To Helena von Arx.”
Matthew set down his fork.
The woman existed. So did her family, though she had never met either Matthew Ellis or Jonathan Pine. Photographs had been manufactured. Old society pages altered. A false engagement inserted into enough databases to survive casual scrutiny.
“She was beautiful,” Teddy said.
“She knew.”
“What happened?”
“She wanted a husband.”
“And you didn’t want a wife?”
“I didn’t want responsibilities.”
“That again.”
“It remains true.”
“You left before the wedding.”
“Two weeks before.”
“Your family said you embarrassed them.”
“My family embarrasses easily.”
“Did you love her?”
Matthew reached for his wine.
The question was more personal than the others.
He wondered whether Teddy knew that.
“No.”
“Did she love you?”
“She liked the idea of me.”
“What was the idea?”
“Money. A familiar surname. A man who would disappear often enough to remain tolerable.”
Teddy looked down at his plate.
“That sounds lonely.”
“For her?”
“For both of you.”
Matthew drank.
“People are rarely as lonely as they pretend.”
Teddy raised his eyes.
“And rarely as carefree?”
There it was.
Matthew rested the stem of the glass against his lower lip.
“You think I’m pretending.”
“I think people who truly don’t care don’t work so hard to demonstrate it.”
The comment was quietly made.
No triumph.
No sense that Teddy believed he had exposed something important.
That made it worse.
Matthew could have laughed it away. He could have reached for another careless answer and let the evening continue.
Instead he said, “Perhaps I enjoy the performance.”
Teddy’s gaze sharpened.
“Who is it for?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
Matthew looked at him.
“You.”
The word sat between them.
It was not a confession. It was not even entirely true.
But Teddy’s fingers stopped against the base of his glass.
Matthew leaned back.
“You invited me because I entertained you.”
“Partly.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m trying to work out what you want.”
“Does everyone have to want something from you?”
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly.
Matthew heard the truth beneath it.
Not self-importance.
Experience.
He thought of the guards, the cameras, the questions asked before Teddy had approached the tennis court. A life spent surrounded by men who arrived with empty hands and hidden invoices.
Matthew had constructed himself to look different.
Wealthy enough not to need Teddy’s money.
Disgraced enough not to fear his reputation.
Lonely enough to be available.
Dangerous enough to be useful.
“What do you want from me?” Matthew asked.
Teddy did not answer immediately.
The old record ended. For several seconds the house was completely quiet.
Then the needle lifted with a soft mechanical click.
“Conversation,” Teddy said.
Matthew smiled.
“You have people for that.”
“I have people who agree with me.”
“And I don’t?”
“You hardly know me.”
“That hasn’t stopped other people.”
“No.”
Teddy folded his napkin and set it beside his plate.
“You also have access.”
“To what?”
“Banks.”
“I’m not employed by one.”
“You still know people.”
“I know people who hate me.”
“Hatred can be useful.”
“Now you sound like a banker.”
Teddy ignored that.
“I have money that needs moving.”
Matthew finished his wine.
There it was.
Business.
He felt both relief and something close to disappointment.
“How much?”
“I didn’t say I was offering you work.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“You’re confident.”
“I’m expensive.”
“I know.”
Matthew glanced toward the house.
“More research?”
“I asked Carlos what you lost at cards last night.”
Matthew had lost two hundred thousand dollars in less than an hour.
The money had gone to three businessmen, one local politician and a shipping executive whose name had appeared twice in Angela’s files.
He had won half of it back before leaving, then spent another thirty thousand buying drinks for everyone in the room.
“The cards were terrible,” Matthew said.
“The cards were fine.”
“The players cheated.”
“You knew.”
“Eventually.”
“You knew after the first hand.”
Matthew looked at him.
Teddy’s expression was composed, but amusement sat beneath it.
“You had someone there.”
“Perhaps.”
“Did you enjoy watching that too?”
“Yes.”
The honesty again.
Matthew rubbed his thumb over the edge of his glass.
“Why didn’t you introduce yourself then?”
“You hadn’t played tennis yet.”
“That improved me?”
“It made you stranger.”
Teddy stood and collected the plates.
Matthew watched him carry them toward the kitchen.
Men like Teddy did not clear tables in intelligence reports.
They sat at the centre of rooms while someone else removed the evidence that they had eaten.
Teddy returned with the expensive Bordeaux and two clean glasses.
He had opened the bottle.
Matthew checked the time out of habit, then remembered his watch had been confiscated.
“How late is it?”
“Not late.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“It’s ten past ten.”
Matthew had been there nearly two hours.
It did not feel like it.
Teddy poured the wine.
This time he filled the glasses only a little.
Matthew tasted it.
It was good. Darker than the first, with something sharp beneath the sweetness.
He pretended to consider.
“Worth the money?”
“No.”
“I thought so.”
“You don’t know anything about wine.”
“I know people lie about it.”
Teddy smiled.
They moved from the table to the chairs beside the pool. The water reflected the courtyard lights in broken gold strips. The air had cooled, though the stone beneath Matthew’s feet still held the day’s heat.
Teddy sat with one ankle over the opposite knee.
Matthew stretched out carelessly, wine in one hand.
The posture belonged to the cover.
The comfort did not.
He could hear movement near the front of the house. Security changing position. A door opening and closing. Otherwise they had been left alone.
“You said your family wanted you back,” Teddy said.
“They want control of the accounts I still own.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
“Where?”
“Switzerland. Luxembourg. Singapore. Several islands whose names become less important when written on company documents.”
“Can they reach them?”
“My family?”
“Yes.”
“Not without me.”
That was the bait at the centre of Matthew Ellis.
Not merely a banker who knew how to hide money.
A banker with personal access to a private network built beyond his family’s control. Accounts, shell companies, dormant trusts and relationships with men prepared to move money quickly for a price.
The network existed.
MI6 had constructed it over eighteen months.
Enough genuine accounts had been included to withstand a test. Enough money moved through them to make Matthew Ellis real.
“You stole from them,” Teddy said.
Matthew looked at the pool.
“They would call it that.”
“What do you call it?”
“Severance.”
“How much?”
“It’s vulgar to discuss money.”
“You lost two hundred thousand dollars yesterday.”
“Then you know I can afford vulgarity.”
Teddy’s gaze stayed on him.
Matthew allowed the silence.
“Seventy-eight million euros,” he said eventually.
It was the figure from the file.
Teddy did not react.
His lack of reaction was more revealing than shock would have been.
“That’s what you took,” Teddy said. “How much do you still control?”
Matthew smiled.
“You haven’t offered me the job.”
Teddy smiled back.
They sat looking at one another across the narrow space between the chairs.
The air shifted.
It had been present at the court. The interest. The curiosity with something sharper underneath. Here, without Carlos or other guests between them, it had become harder to dismiss.
Matthew felt it when Teddy looked at his mouth.
Only for a moment.
Long enough.
Matthew took another drink.
“You’re not married,” Teddy said.
The change of subject was not smooth.
Matthew noticed.
“No.”
“No children?”
“None anyone has introduced me to.”
Teddy laughed and looked down.
“What?”
“You make everything a joke.”
“Not everything.”
“Name something.”
Matthew thought about Angela. The operation. The men who had disappeared after appearing in photographs beside Teddy. The possibility that one mistake in this house could end with his body never being found.
He looked at Teddy.
“This.”
The word came out quieter than he intended.
Teddy did not ask what he meant.
Perhaps he understood.
Perhaps he only wanted to.
The silence lengthened.
A drop of water fell from one of the orange leaves and struck the pool.
Teddy set his glass down.
“Why did you really leave Switzerland?”
Matthew had prepared a dozen answers.
A fight with his father.
Fear of prosecution.
A woman.
Boredom.
He chose none of them.
“Because every room I entered had already decided who I was.”
Teddy watched him.
“And Colombia hasn’t?”
“Colombia doesn’t care who my grandfather was.”
“It cares how much money you have.”
“That’s cleaner.”
“You believe that?”
“I understand it.”
Teddy leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.
“You think being wanted for your money is better than being wanted for your name.”
“I think honesty is underrated.”
“People here won’t be honest with you.”
“No.”
“Some will try to rob you.”
“They already have.”
“Some will try to use you.”
“They’ll have to be interesting.”
“And if they are?”
Matthew smiled slowly.
“I might let them.”
Teddy held his gaze.
There was nothing careless in Matthew then.
The mask had not fallen. It had shifted. Enough for Teddy to see that beneath the expensive shirts and reckless stories was someone who chose his risks rather than stumbled into them.
It was dangerous to show him that.
Necessary too.
Teddy stood.
Matthew did not move.
For a moment he thought the evening had ended.
Instead Teddy walked to a cabinet beneath the balcony and removed a thin brown folder.
He returned and held it out.
Matthew looked at it.
“What is it?”
“A test.”
“You said this wasn’t an interview.”
“It wasn’t.”
“And now?”
“Now I’ve decided I want to see you again.”
The words carried more than one meaning.
Teddy seemed aware of it.
Matthew accepted the folder.
It contained bank transfers. Six companies. Four jurisdictions. Money moving in circles through invoices for agricultural equipment and commercial refrigeration.
He read the first page.
Then the second.
The structure was clever.
Not clever enough.
“Who designed this?”
“You tell me.”
“They like Panama.”
“Is that bad?”
“It’s lazy.”
Teddy returned to his chair.
Matthew continued reading.
The money entered through a Colombian exporter, moved to a logistics firm in Curaçao, then split among three European holding companies. It returned to South America disguised as foreign investment.
One of the European accounts belonged to a real estate company in Lausanne.
That was the weakness.
“Someone is stealing from you,” Matthew said.
Teddy went very still.
“Explain.”
“The Swiss company.”
“It’s ours.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It was created for us.”
“Perhaps. But it has another beneficiary.”
“How can you tell?”
Matthew tapped the page.
“The fees.”
Teddy took the folder.
Matthew leaned closer and pointed to the transfers.
“Every time the money crosses into Switzerland, one point eight per cent disappears.”
“Bank charges.”
“No bank charges exactly one point eight per cent on every transfer, regardless of amount. Someone built a private commission into the structure.”
Teddy studied the figures.
“Who?”
“I’d need the account documents.”
“You can get them?”
“Perhaps.”
“How long?”
Matthew sat back.
“Now we discuss my price.”
Teddy looked up from the papers.
“What do you want?”
The obvious answer was money.
Matthew Ellis had enough.
The useful answer was access.
Jonathan needed it.
But asking too directly would expose the hunger behind the cover.
So Matthew looked around the courtyard, at the pool and the orange trees, then back at Teddy.
“Another dinner.”
Teddy blinked.
It was the first time that evening Matthew had genuinely surprised him.
“That’s your price?”
“For the documents. Once I know who is taking your money, I’ll become expensive.”
Teddy’s expression softened into a slow smile.
“Tomorrow?”
“I may have plans.”
“You don’t.”
“You sound very sure.”
“You’ve been in Cartagena three weeks and spend every evening gambling with men you dislike.”
“I like some of them.”
“No, you don’t.”
Matthew closed the folder.
“Tomorrow, then.”
“Eight.”
“Nine.”
“Eight thirty.”
Matthew considered.
“Eight forty-five.”
“Why?”
“So you won’t think I’m too eager.”
Teddy laughed.
This time the sound filled the courtyard.
Matthew found himself smiling with him.
For one dangerous moment, the operation disappeared.
No Angela.
No file.
No orders.
Only a warm night in Cartagena and a man looking at him as though he had already decided Matthew was worth the trouble.
Teddy rose.
“I’ll have your phone brought.”
Matthew stood too.
He kept the folder beneath one arm.
At the front of the house, the guard returned his watch and telephone. Everything remained exactly as Matthew had left it.
Teddy accompanied him to the door.
The gesture was unnecessary.
His guards could have done it.
Matthew slipped the watch onto his wrist.
Eleven fourteen.
He had stayed much longer than intended.
The green door opened onto the narrow street.
Night had settled over the old city. Music came from several directions at once. A couple argued beneath a balcony. A horse-drawn carriage rolled slowly through the next intersection, the driver half asleep.
Matthew stepped outside.
“Teddy.”
He turned.
Teddy stood in the doorway, one hand against the frame.
The light from the hall outlined him but left part of his face in shadow.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Teddy said.
“Which one?”
“What you want from me.”
Matthew looked at him.
The correct answer would have been work.
Access.
A place inside the organization.
Instead he said, “I haven’t decided.”
Teddy nodded.
He seemed pleased by that.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“Perhaps.”
“You’ll come.”
Matthew smiled.
“You are very confident.”
“I watched you play.”
The door closed.
Matthew remained in the street for several seconds.
Then he began walking toward the square rather than calling a taxi.
He carried the folder loosely, as though the contents did not matter. Anyone watching would see a rich man leaving dinner with a potential business arrangement and too much wine in his blood.
Jonathan Pine felt the weight of every page beneath his arm.
It was the first real opening.
Financial records meant trust. Limited trust, but enough to build on. If the laundering network connected to what London suspected, Angela would have names, accounts and routes before the week ended.
The operation was moving.
Everything had gone well.
Too well.
Matthew turned onto a busier street and joined the evening crowd. He should have been thinking about the Swiss company, the hidden commission and how soon he could photograph the folder.
Instead he remembered Teddy laughing in the courtyard.
He remembered Teddy saying, *I’ve decided I want to see you again.*
Matthew told himself the interest was useful.
He had been trained to encourage attachment when it served the mission. A lonely man trusted someone who listened. A curious man revealed more to someone who remained difficult to understand.
This was work.
It would remain work.
At the corner, Matthew stopped beneath a streetlamp and looked back.
Teddy’s house was no longer visible.
He could still feel Teddy watching him.
That was the problem.
Matthew had spent the evening making himself impossible for Teddy to ignore.
Somewhere between the first glass of wine and the second invitation, he had stopped ignoring Teddy too.