The 5:30 AM train out of Zurich to Frankfurt didn’t feel like a commute. It felt like a war room on wheels.
Private car. Bulletproof glass. Outside, the dark Swiss pine forests whipped past in a blurred smudge of black and gray, swallowed by the early morning fog.
I sat at the polished mahogany work desk, my laptop humming as real-time liquidity maps spilled across three slim monitors. Beside me, Enzo had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a secure satellite phone pressed to his ear, his voice low, raspy, and lethal as he dictated terms to our trade desk in Frankfurt.
"Tell the German consortiums they take our clearing spread or they settle through legacy clearinghouses with a three-second delay," Enzo gritted out, his jaw tight as his hazel eyes stayed locked on my screen. "No extens
