Maya's phone lit up at eight. The number she never saved.
She answered. "Yes."
"We're moving," Carney said. "The timeline has changed."
She sat up. "How soon."
"This week. The offer was refused. She's not going to sell. We're past that now."
Maya was quiet.
"I need you to make contact," Carney said. "In person. Somewhere natural. Not arranged — it needs to look like a coincidence. You know her routines."
"I know some of them," Maya said carefully.
"She goes to the Luxe site Thursday mornings. Stops at the coffee place on Mercer afterward. Every week. Be there."
"And after I make contact. What then."
"Invite her somewhere. Lunch, a walk, whatever feels natural. Keep her relaxed." Carney's voice was even. "My people will be nearby. When the moment is right they'll take over."
"Tak
