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Pride—the fatal flaw in Knox's armor. His need for acknowledgment of his brilliance overrode caution.

"Most financial investigators lack the mathematical background to recognize architectural elegance," he admitted, moving closer to observe her work.

Three minutes. She just needed three minutes more.

Outside the window, a distant ship's horn sounded across the harbor—melancholy and persistent, like hope carried on salt air. Ivy focused on the sound, let it center her as she continued laying her digital trail for Julia to follow.

Knox studied the laptop screen, expression unreadable as he scrolled through what Ivy had produced. The three-minute grace period had extended to fifteen as she wove an intricate web of convincing technical deception—enough authentic code to appear legitimate while embedding her hidden messages.

"Interesting approach to the security protocol," he finally said. "Though I notice certain inconsistencies."

"Redundant systems require redundant access patterns," Ivy replied smoothly. "The apparent inconsistencies create verification checkpoints."

Marcus shifted impatiently behind Knox, clearly disappointed by the continued technical discussion rather than the interrogation he'd been anticipating. The guard withthe military cut—whose name Ivy had overheard was Richards—maintained a more professional distance, eyes continuously scanning entry points with the disciplined vigilance of formal training.

The subtle tension between the two men reinforced what Ivy had already assessed: Knox's organization contained internal fracture lines. Marcus represented the brutal enforcement arm, while Richards embodied the more professional security element. Two different approaches to the same objective, coexisting uneasily under Knox's authority.

A leverage point she intended to exploit.

"Mr. Knox," she said, voice pitched to carry to the guards without seeming intended for them. "Your security detail appears to maintain military protocols despite civilian status. Unusual discipline for private contractors."

Knox glanced up, recognizing the attempt but curious enough to allow it. "Richards served with distinction. His unit specialized in high-value asset protection."

"While Marcus...?"

The subtle shift in Marcus's posture told her everything. There was no distinguishedservice record there, just aptitude for violence that Knox had channeled into his operation.

"Marcus has other qualifications," Knox replied neutrally.

"Of course." Ivy typed another line of code, embedding the shipyard's specific dock number. "Military precision combined with…less restrained approaches. Effective combination."

Richards didn't visibly react, but the incrementally greater distance he maintained from Marcus spoke volumes. Professional disdain. Another fault line.

"Your previous work with federal agencies must have exposed you to similar security structures," Knox observed, redirecting the conversation.

"Joint FBI-Treasury operations maintain clearer hierarchies," Ivy replied, continuing to work while keeping her voice casual. "Defined protocols for asset handling and chain of command."

Marcus shifted again, tapping his baton against his leg with increasing impatience. "This is taking too long," he muttered, loudly enough for Knox to hear. "She's stalling."

Knox held up one hand without looking away from the screen. "Patience, Marcus. Professional courtesy has its place."

"Professional courtesy didn't stop her from dismantling three shell companies this morning," Marcus countered, stepping closer. "While we sit here talking, she's probably got more releases scheduled."

The insubordination hung in the air. Richards subtly adjusted his position—not quite siding with Knox, but clearly disapproving of the open challenge to authority. The fracture widened.

Ivy maintained her focus on the screen, apparently absorbed in her work while calculating her next move in this dangerous game. Three players with different agendas: Knox seeking information, Marcus wanting violence, Richards maintaining professional discipline despite serving a criminal enterprise.

"The authentication protocol requires biometric verification," she said, ignoring Marcus's tension to focus on Knox. "Keystroke pattern recognition as a security layer."

Knox nodded, his respect for technicalsecurity measures overriding suspicion. "Elegant."

"Unlike your rabid dog's approach," Ivy added, the calculated insult aimed precisely at Marcus.

The effect was immediate. Marcus stepped forward, baton raised. "You smug bit?—"

"Stand down." Knox's voice cut through the tension, quiet but absolute in its authority.

"She's playing you," Marcus insisted, not backing away. "Buying time while her detective girlfriend hunts for her."