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don’t—”
The line muffled.
Vice returned.
“She has opinions. You should be proud.”
Silven took the phone from Lenora’s numb hand.
“Where?”
An old warehouse on the river.
One hour.
The ledger.
No police.
No games.
When the call ended, Lenora looked at Silven.
“He owns the room,” Silven said. “Your daughter pays. So you breathe. You walk. You let me speak until continue reading …
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