Dominic’s POV

Zurich feels too clean for the kind of truth I’m chasing. The streets gleam after the morning rain, the air sharp enough to bite. Even the light here feels sterile, like the city’s built to disinfect secrets, not expose them but some stains don’t wash out, no matter how much money is poured over them.

I wait outside a small café tucked behind the Bahnhofstrasse, hood pulled low, coffee cooling untouched beside me. My contact is late, but that’s not surprising. Lawyers ...