Jordan finds it buried in tax records and offshore account statements at three in the morning.
He calls me at six, voice rough with exhaustion and something that might be excitement. "You need to get to my office. Now. And bring Liam."
"What did you find?"
"Just get here. You're going to want to see this in person."
We're there in forty minutes, both of us running on coffee and adrenaline. Court resumes at nine. We have three hours to figure out whatever Jordan discovered.
His office looks like a conspiracy theorist's dream. Papers everywhere, multiple monitors displaying financial documents, empty energy drink cans littering every surface. Jordan himself looks like he hasn't slept in days. He probably hasn't.
"Tell me you found something that helps," Liam says, closing the door behi
