The Records opened on a Tuesday at nine a.m.
Adisa had insisted on Tuesday. She said Monday mornings were operationally impractical and Wednesday felt presumptuous. Tuesday was the correct opening day for something that intended to be permanent.
I had not argued.
The space was on the second floor of a Vaulted City building three streets from Draven's main office — neutral territory, registered under the compact, outside pack jurisdiction. Clean lines. Good light. A front desk with a person behind it who understood both financial documentation and discretion. Four private consultation rooms. A secure document storage system that Tobias had designed and Adisa had approved and Draven had paid for without being asked.
At eight fifty-seven, I stood outside the front door.
Zevran was beside
