Page 77 of Glass Spinner

“He paid for the original contract. Disguised it through a shell company. I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t known where to look.”

Kathleen rubbed her hands together. “So now what? We go to the press?”

Marise shook her head. “Not yet. He’s protected by big money and powerful friends.”

Kathleen went very still. “I’ll send my paper in as soon as I finish it.”

Marise nodded. “Good. Then I’ll handle the rest.”

Kathleen’s eyes narrowed. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make sure that bastard Conway removes that contract on you.”

Kathleen didn’t argue. She simply stood and crossed to the window, looking out at the woods. “It’s so peaceful out here. Why do some people crave money and power, Veronica. Even kill to get it. It doesn’t bring happiness.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Marise sadly. She wasn’t worthy of this woman’s love. Kathleen was right. For all her money, Marise had never found happiness.

She went back to the couch, reopened her laptop, and began compiling everything her contact had sent—company names, meeting dates, asset flows. She’d need more than one favour. She had two days to trace every thread Conway had spun and pull it tight around his neck.

Marise cracked her knuckles, rolled her shoulders, and got back to work.

The sun had edged up through the pines, lighting the clearing outside in streaks of silver. Birds called out softly, and Kathleen’s fingers tapped steadily across her keyboard from the other side of the room. It should have felt tranquil, but Marise had slipped into her other state, the one with the narrowed vision, the rapid keystrokes, the predator’s patience.

She didn’t need to break into federal servers. She needed to follow the money.

Lapwing’s initial files gave her the starting point: a dummy corporation registered in Delaware, used to launder money for political purposes. Marise ran the name through offshore directories, looking for cross-links with PACs, energy lobbyists, and consulting firms. The software did most of the heavy lifting, but the intuition was hers.

It took her until noon to stitch together the trail: one fund transferring small, repeated amounts into multiple ‘consulting’ companies. Not illegal on the surface, but the names were familiar. Two were tied to known shell operations used in election finance scandals. A third had been used by apetrochemical firm five years ago to bribe officials in eastern Europe. It had been a quiet settlement, an NDA, then buried.

“Got you,” she muttered.

She flagged it all, took screenshots, and dumped it into a secure vault. Then she went deeper.

Conway’s calendar was public. She cross-referenced the dates he’d met with Verdantis Petro execs with the days the shell company’s accounts moved funds. She followed all movement within forty-eight hours. The amounts were low enough to avoid automated banking red flags, but it was a pattern. And if there was a pattern, she could prove intent.

She pulled up property records. Conway’s family trust had quietly purchased farmland outside Houston last year. Months later, a pipeline expansion was approved to cut through that land—jacking the property value by over 300%. The bill approving it was sponsored by Conway himself.

That would play well in the court of public opinion.

As she dug further, Lapwing sent another message:You want leverage or prosecution?

Marise typed fast:Both.

A few minutes later, he delivered gold.

Lapwing:There’s a recording. Private Zoom call. Got it through a whistleblower archive. Not pristine, but usable.

She downloaded the file and played it through a scrubber. Conway’s voice was unmistakable—charming, with that slight southern drawl. “The energy bill’s DOA unless we kill the alternative proposals. We’re not funding fringe tech. We’re funding oil, gentlemen. That lab in New York—make sure it doesn’t get traction. Quietly.”

Marise sat back, her mind in a whirl.

It wasn’t only corruption, it was premeditated. The call was timestamped three weeks before the attempt on Kathleen’s life.

She replayed it, then trimmed the clip and encrypted it.

Kathleen looked up. “Progress?”

“I’ve got him,” Marise said. She turned the laptop around and pressed play.