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Julia. Unconscious on her apartment floor, blood seeping from a head wound.

"Detective Scott survived our encounter," Knox said, watching Ivy's reaction with clinical precision. "Though her condition remains…uncertain."

Ivy forced her expression to neutrality, though her heart hammered painfully against her ribs. The image might be hours old. Julia could be recovered by now and coming for her.

She had to believe that.

"Phoenix Ridge's decorated detective," Knox continued. "Three generations of law enforcement legacy. Her grandmother was particularly noteworthy—first female detective in the department's history, I believe."

The depth of his intelligence was unsettling. Knox hadn't just researched Julia's professional record; he'd studied her family history. The personal nature of the surveillance suggested a vendetta beyond tactical necessity.

"She rejected my application to the police academy thirty years ago," Knox said conversationally, confirming Ivy's suspicion. "Marie Scott. Said I lacked the 'moral character' necessary for law enforcement."

The revelation crystallized something Ivy had suspected but couldn't confirm—Knox's particular hatred for the female-led Phoenix Ridge Police Department wasn't just misogyny; it was personal humiliation translated into decades of systematic corruption.

"So this is revenge," Ivy said, playing for time while her fingers continued their careful work. "Corrupting the institution that rejected you."

"This is business," Knox corrected, though the tightening around his eyes betrayed the lie. "The department's transition to all-female leadership simply made certain officers more…receptive to financial incentives."

"Like Lieutenant Harper."

"Among others." He smiled thinly. "Did you really believe I'd rely on a single compromised officer? Half your protective detail reports directly to me."

The casual revelation sent ice throughIvy's veins. Not just Harper. Multiple officers. The corruption ran deeper than even Chief Marten had suspected.

"The infrastructure acquisitions weren't just about leverage," she realized aloud. "They were about systematic control. Replacing public oversight with private governance."

Knox inclined his head fractionally, acknowledging her insight. "Phoenix Ridge has operated under the illusion of female empowerment for decades, while remaining fundamentally vulnerable to financial direction."

"Yourdirection."

"Someone's." He shrugged. "The city requires guidance beyond feminist ideology. It needs structure, hierarchy.”

His hand moved to the nearest portrait, a silver-framed photograph of a man with cold eyes and a military bearing. "Marcus has expressed particular interest in spending time with you. His background includes specialized interrogation training."

The bearded guard stepped forward, tapping his baton against his leg in rhythmic anticipation.

"I've given you the opportunity to cooperate," Knox continued. "Your scheduled releases may constitute an inconvenience, but my organization has weathered worse."

Ivy kept typing, each keystroke embedding another breadcrumb for Julia. The browser's tracking pixel had been activated; any images loaded would contain metadata. Invisible to casual observation, but forensically recoverable.

"It's your choice, Dr. Monroe," Knox said, stepping back toward the windows. "Professional courtesy between equals…or Marcus's more direct approach."

As if on cue, Marcus moved closer, eyes flat and anticipatory. The guard with the military cut shifted uncomfortably, another indicator of internal fracture within Knox's organization. Ivy filed the observation away, potential leverage for later.

"I need three more minutes to access the authentication server," she said, maintaining the performance. "The security protocols require specific handshakes."

Knox studied her. "Three minutes," he agreed finally. "Then I expect tangible results."

As he turned to gaze out at his decaying empire, Ivy completed her digital trail. The code would appear legitimate to most observers, but it contained embedded coordinates, timestamps, and references that would lead Julia directly to this location.

All she needed now was time.

"Did you know your shell company structure creates a mathematical pattern?" she asked, drawing Knox's attention away from her typing. "When mapped three-dimensionally, it forms a perfect hexagon with six distinct nodes."

Knox turned, genuine curiosity momentarily overriding suspicion. "Explain."

"The connectivity pattern." Her fingers continued their work beneath his renewed attention. "Most criminals create haphazard organizational structures. Yours displays mathematical precision."