Javier already has Leo face-down on the lawn, pinning him with one knee pressed against his back.

Dante was through the front door in nineteen minutes.

Leo was standing in the hallway.

Mia was on the stairs behind him, still dressed, like neither of them had tried to sleep.

Dante looked at his son.

"How long?" he said.

Leo's face didn't move.

"Dad—"

"How long have you known about Marco?"

The name sat in the hallway between them.

Mia came down two more steps.

"Known what about Marco?" she said.

Leo looked at the floor.

Then back at his father.

"Six weeks.

Maybe seven."

"Six weeks." Dante's voice was quiet.

Controlled.

The kind of controlled that took effort.

"You knew for six weeks."

"I didn't know what it meant.

I saw something — a transfer, a number that didn't match — and I went to Marco directly.

He had an explanation.

I thought—"

"You thought."

"I thought it was a mistake.

An accounting error.

Marco's been with us for nine years, Dad.

Nine years."

"I know how long he's been with us."

"So I let it go." Leo's jaw was tight.

"And then two weeks later I saw another one.

Different account.

Same pattern.

And I didn't let it go that time — I started pulling threads.

But I didn't have enough yet.

I didn't want to bring it to you without something solid."

"You didn't want to bring it to me," Dante said, "or you didn't want to be wrong."

Leo didn't answer.

Mia came the rest of the way down the stairs.

"Who is Sutter?"

Both men looked at her.

"I heard the name when you called," she said to her father.

"Who is he?"

Dante took the envelope from his jacket and set it on the hallway table.

"An American.

Connected to a financial group.

Marco has been feeding him information about the organization for at least a year.

In exchange for a clean exit before everything comes down."

Mia stared at the envelope.

"Marco."

"Yes."

"Marco who came to my graduation.

Marco who drove me to the hospital when I broke my wrist." Her voice was flat.

"That Marco."

"Yes."

She looked at her brother.

"And you knew."

"I suspected," Leo said.

"There's a difference."

"Not much of one."

"Mia—"

"You let it sit for six weeks." Her voice didn't rise.

It went colder instead.

"Six weeks while he was still in the building.

Still in the meetings.

Still knowing everything."

Leo turned back to his father.

"What do we do?"

Dante picked up the envelope.

"First — we find out how much Sutter already has.

If Marco has been passing information for a year, there are accounts that need to be closed, contracts that need to be restructured, and people who need to be warned." He looked at Leo.

"And we find out who else knew."

"You think Marco had help."

"A man doesn't run something like this alone for a year without someone covering for him." He moved toward the study.

"I need the access logs for the last fourteen months.

Everything Marco touched.

Every meeting he attended.

Every file he requested."

Leo followed him.

"I can have that by morning."

"I need it in two hours."

"Dad, it's—"

"Two hours, Leo." Dante turned on the study light.

"And I need you to do it yourself.

No one else in that system tonight.

Not until we know who we're dealing with."

Leo nodded and pulled out his phone.

Mia appeared in the study doorway.

"What about Marco?

Where is he right now?"

"I don't know yet."

"If he finds out you know—"

"He'll run." Dante sat down behind the desk.

"Which is why he can't find out.

Not yet." He opened the envelope again and spread the pages across the desk.

"Mia.

I need you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Call Marco.

Tonight.

Keep it casual — tell him there was an incident at the party and I want a briefing tomorrow morning.

Early.

Make it sound routine."

Mia looked at her father.

"You want me to lie to him."

"I want you to give him no reason to disappear before morning."

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she took out her phone.

"If he asks what kind of incident?" she said.

"Tell him Javier showed up and caused a scene.

That part's true."

She nodded and walked back into the hallway.

Dante listened to her voice start — calm, easy, the practiced warmth of someone who had grown up learning how to say one thing while thinking another.

He looked down at the fifth page of the envelope.

Marco's name in yellow.