The small, ornate brass key lay on the table between us, a direct connection to a dead man's last hope. It felt heavy, weighed down by nineteen years of silence. The truth was inside the serpent's heart. My heart raced, a frantic beat against my ribs. This was it. This was the breakthrough we had been fighting for.
"The Incorruptible Man?" I repeated, keeping my voice steady and my eyes locked on Colette. "Did he give you a name?"
"No," Colette said, her eyes still on the key. "My father was a man of principles. He believed that a reputation for integrity was more valuable and recognizable than any name. He trusted that this man's character would be his signature."
A reputation so strong it could be remembered nineteen years later. It was a daunting, almost impossible clue.
I shifted slightly, tilting my head to ensure my earpiece received a clear signal. "Dante, are you hearing this?" I murmured, my lips barely moving while my gaze remained on Colette.
"Loud and clear," his voice came through as a low, tense growl, a mix of raw excitement and controlled urgency. "Nyx, Elias, you have the parameters. A senior private banker in Brussels, active twenty years ago, with a sterling reputation for integrity. Go."
I turned my attention back to Colette, who was now sliding the key across the table toward me. "I've held onto this for half my life," she said, her voice thick with pain she had clearly borne alone for years. "I've always been too afraid to use it. Too afraid of who might be watching. If Moretti can protect you while you open that door, then this is my only chance to find out why my father really died."
"This isn't just your fight anymore, Colette," I replied, my fingers wrapping around the cool metal of the key. "It's ours." I felt the weight of that promise in my hand.
"Get the key and get out, Isabella," Dante commanded in my ear. "Leo's men will handle the rest. Your part of the mission is over."
A wave of defiance surged through me. "Negative," I whispered back, keeping my eyes on Colette. "She trusts me. She gave the key to me. I'm seeing this through."
"That is not a request; it is an order!" The fury in his voice was obvious, his protective instinct clashing with his strategic mindset.
"Then consider this a resignation," I shot back, a risky move but a necessary one. "I'm not your soldier, Dante. I am your partner. Bench me now and you'll lose this lead forever."
The silence on the other end showed the internal struggle I knew he was facing. Colette, unaware of my silent fight, stood up. "I have a dead drop I use for sources. I'll send you the address. When you find out what's in that box, you contact me. And no one else." She gave me one last, searching look—a look that held years of fear and a fragile sliver of hope—then she vanished into the Brussels crowd.
As soon as she disappeared, I leaned back in my chair, the adrenaline from the encounter leaving me exhausted.
"Damn you, Isabella," Dante's voice finally came through, not with anger but with a tone of reluctant respect. "Fine. We'll do this your way. But you are on the tightest leash possible."
"What have you found?" I asked, snapping my attention back to the mission.
"Elias is working through a short list of bankers," Dante replied. "But Nyx might have something better."
Nyx's enthusiastic voice cut in. "The Serpent's Heart. It's not just a metaphor, Bella. It's a place. I cross-referenced Brussels' financial district history with mythological archives. For a brief period in the 90s, there was an ultra-exclusive private bank, a subsidiary of a larger Swiss institution. It catered to old money, clients who valued discretion above all else. It was called Fafnir Private Trust."
My breath caught. "Fafnir?"
"Norse mythology," Dante confirmed, all the pieces falling into place. "A dwarf prince corrupted by a cursed treasure, transformed into a dragon—a serpent—to guard it. He was slain by the hero Sigurd, who then ate the dragon's heart to gain godly wisdom."
The truth was inside the serpent's heart. It wasn't a metaphor; it was a set of clear, brilliant instructions. Jacques Dubois hadn't just left his daughter a key; he had left her a mystery to solve.
"The bank was acquired and rebranded eighteen years ago," Nyx continued. "But their high-security vault system, called 'The Heart,' is still in use by the new institution. It was considered the most secure in Europe at that time."
"We have the location," I said, the path suddenly clear.
"And we have the man," Elias added, a quiet triumph in his tone. "Only one man ran Fafnir Private Trust during that time. A man so famously incorruptible, so unyielding in his principles that he was forced into early retirement after the acquisition because he refused to compromise his ethics for the new corporate culture. The financial world called him 'The Saint of Brussels.' His name is Jean-Pierre Marchand."
We had everything. The man, the key, the bank. All the pieces were in place.
"Leo," Dante's voice was cold, decisive, and final. "Change of plans. We are no longer observing. We are going to the bank."