Suspicion Brews

Hidden Surveillance Room, Beneath an Abandoned Textile Factory, Jakarta. The air in the cramped bunker hung heavy with the static hum of servers and the acrid tang of overheated circuitry. Felix crouched over a bank of flickering monitors, his face bathed in the sickly blue glow of financial spreadsheets. Numbers scrolled endlessly—shell companies, offshore accounts, blood money laundered through casinos and cargo ships. Nicholas slouched in a chair beside him, fingers flying across a keyboard, his hoodie sleeves frayed and stained with coffee. In the corner, Thalia sat cross-legged on a moth-eaten rug, her eyes closed, a smoldering incense stick casting spirals of sandalwood smoke around her.

Felix stabs a finger at the screen. “There—the Golden Lotus account. It’s funneling funds to three new fronts in Manila. Why?”

Nicholas yawning. “Could be bribes. Could be paying off a warlord. Could be someone’s birthday party. Let me cross-reference with—”