Forty-Eight Hours
ELIJAH’S POV.
There is a particular type of person I have come across in business over the years.
The type who has been operating for so long without consequence that they have stopped being careful. Not because they are stupid. Usually the opposite is true. But because decades of getting away with things builds a very specific type of arrogance. They start to believe that the rules were written for other people. That the world has already decided they are too big to fall. That whatever they did to get where they are has been buried so deep and/ for so long that it could never surface.
I know this type because I spent years being adjacent to it. And I know how to dismantle it because I have watched what happens when you find the right edge and you pull.
We flew back from Adele’s on the second morning. I had Kojo on the phone before the car had even fully left the airport.
“Aldric Voros,” I said. “Full name. I need everything. Business history going back as far as your search can reach. Current company structure. Board positions across every organisation. Any legal proceedings anywhere, settled or still running, from any country he has done business in. His political relationships. Media connections. Every property or financial interest he holds on record and anything I can reasonably suspect he holds off it. Known partners, past and current. Associates. And anything at all that connects him or his people to Orica specifically, to the fashion industry in this city, or to the name Prestige.”
Kojo was quiet for a moment.


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