“What?”
“The grammar is wrong for a warehouse,” she said.
“It refers to people waiting inside a controlled space.”
Constantine laughed, but the sound had no confidence in it.
“This is theater.
She sees what you want her to see.”
“No,” Amelia said softly.
“I see what your writer tried to hide.”
Every face turned toward her again.
Her instinct told her to apologize for speaking out of turn.
Instead, she placed the strip beside the final paragraph of the journal.
“The same mistake appears here and here,” she said.
“Whoever added the last section learned the old ledger code from a copy.
They understood the vocabulary, but not the regional rules.
The original pages use a mountain dialect.
The added pages imitate it with coastal syntax.”
Arthur looked from one passage to the other.
His fear began to give way to professional focus.
“She may be right,” he admitted.
Constantine snapped something at him in Russian.
Amelia answered before Arthur could react.
“Threatening him will not change the ink.”
The room went still.
Dominic slowly turned his head toward Constantine.
“What did he say?”
“He said Arthur should remember whose men control the road outside his home.”
Arthur’s face went gray.
Silas stepped behind Constantine’s chair.
Dominic’s voice dropped.
“You threatened my employee at my table.”
“It was an expression,” Constantine said.
“It was specific.” Amelia pointed to another line on the hidden strip.
“So is this.”
Dominic looked back at her.
“The diverted shipment is meant to disappear,” she continued.
“The loss will be blamed on increased border patrols.
That is why he demanded the additional five percent tonight.
The new price is not compensation for risk.
It creates a record that he warned you the route had become unstable.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
Constantine spread his hands.
“Convenient.
A waitress invents a conspiracy, and suddenly your own refusal to accept market conditions becomes evidence against me.”
Amelia read the next group of symbols twice.
The words were compressed, but their meaning was unmistakable.
“There is more,” she said.
Dominic waited.
“The shipment is not the primary target.”
For the first time, Constantine looked frightened.
His hand moved toward the inside of his jacket.
Gabriel caught his wrist against the table.
Crystal glasses jumped.
Water spilled across the white cloth, running toward the open journal.
Amelia snatched the book away before the liquid reached it.
Silas seized Constantine’s other arm.
The movement lasted less than two seconds, but when it ended, Constantine was pinned in his chair and a compact pistol rested on the table beyond his reach.
