Page 76 of Mane Rival in Store
“Where is he operating?” Lark sat cross-legged on the office couch with a laptop balanced on her knees. She’d changed into leggings and an oversized Villainette hoodie after Rune left, because investigative work required comfort and she was the CEO and nobody could tell her otherwise.
“That’s the gap.” Breezy pulled up a map on her tablet. “Rune’s team traced the adhesive formula and the press signatures. The equipment Leif needs is specialized—climate-controlled paper storage, high-end letterpress, testing gear for quality control. That’s not a basement operation. That’s an industrial space.”
“Brooklyn.” Lark didn’t look up from her laptop. “The pop-ups were all outer boroughs. If I were running product through temporary retail, I’d keep my production space within delivery range of my sellers. Manhattan industrial space is too expensive for a front. Brooklyn industrial district—Sunset Park, Gowanus, or the Navy Yard.”
Breezy typed. “I’ll pull commercial lease records for those corridors. Cross won’t have signed under his own name, but the lease terms will need to accommodate specialized electrical and climate systems. That narrows the search.”
Lark’s phone buzzed. Sybil.
Sybil: How’s the investigation going? Oliver says I should ask if you’ve caught the bad guy yet. I told him it’s not a movie. He says it’s absolutely a movie.
Lark: It’s not a movie. Although Breezy has a whiteboard with red circles on it, so it’s at minimum a procedural drama.
Sybil: That’s exciting! Do you need anything? I can bring lunch.
Lark: You are a perfect human. Yes please. The usual for me and Breezy. Also bring a salad or grain bowl for Rune because he’ll be back from his council thing and he eats like a Viking nutritionist.
Oliver: THE LION MAN HAS A COUNCIL? LIKE A LION COUNCIL? Do they sit in a circle? Do they ROAR?
Lark: Oliver, I swear on our mother’s cross-examination skills, if you text him the word “roar” I will end you.
Oliver: Too late. Sent.
She put the phone down and rubbed her eyes. Three days of investigation on top of running two businesses had compressed her sleep schedule into a thing Breezy described as “medically concerning,” and Lark described as “Tuesday.”
“I need to get to Leif.” She directed the words at the board. Breezy looked up. “The financial trail connects Creed to the operation, but it’s layered through shells and consulting fees. A prosecutor could argue legitimate business dealings. We need direct evidence—a transaction, a recording, a buy.”
“You want to set up a sting.” Breezy’s voice was flat. Not disapproving. Assessing.
“I want to set up a buy.” Lark closed her laptop. “I have industry contacts. Villainette’s expansion means I’ve worked with every vendor, distributor, and collector network in the tri-state area. If Leif Cross is selling forgeries through pop-ups, someone in my network has crossed his path. I can find the introduction. I can arrange a purchase. We record the transaction, document the product, and tie the physical evidence to the money.”
Breezy set down the marker. Her face settled into the expression she reserved for moments when Lark’s plans were both brilliant and terrible—an expression that had served them well since middle school and currently resembled a woman calculating the exact probability of catastrophe.
“You want to walk into a forger’s operation pretending to be a buyer.”
“I want to walk into a forger’s operation being a buyer. Villainette purchases rare editions for our display cases. It’s a legitimate business activity. I’m not pretending. I’m placing an order.”
“For forgeries.”
“For editions I suspect are forgeries. The distinction matters legally.”
“And Fallon Creed, who is bankrolling this operation and has already sent a scarred lion shifter to attack you in a SoHo alley, won’t find this suspicious at all.”
“Which is why we control the introduction. The buy happens through a contact Fallon can’t trace. We move fast—find Leif, place the order, document the transaction, get out. Seventy-two hours from contact to evidence.”
Breezy crossed her arms. Stared at Lark. Stared at the red-circled names. Stared back at Lark.
“I’m adding ‘sting operation’ to the insurance claim template.”
“Does our insurance even cover sting operations?”
“Our insurance doesn’t cover lion fights on public sidewalks either, but here we are.” Breezy picked up the marker. Started writing. “Seventy-two hours. I’ll run logistics. You find the introduction. And Lark—” She pointed the marker like a weapon. “You are not doing this without security. Full team. Wired. And I am monitoring from a vehicle within extraction range, because if you think I’m sitting in this office while you play informant, you have confused me with someone who doesn’t have your iPhone location on permanent display.”
“You’re the best person I know.”
“I know. Add it to my year-end evaluation.”
The service door opened. Rune. Still in the charcoal suit, which on his frame looked less like business attire and more like what happened when tailoring met architecture. His hair was pressed flat—deliberately, recently—which meant it had been misbehaving during the council meeting and he’d spent the ride here smoothing it down.
