Page 31 of Outside the Room

Trevor nodded, already pulling up additional financial records. "I'll start tracing Nash Global's financial transactions, look for anything suspicious or any connections to shell companies."

They worked steadily through the remaining morning hours, building a more comprehensive picture of Nash Global's operations. The evidence wasn't conclusive, but it was compelling—a company systematically positioning itself to control specific shipping routes while its containers exhibited consistent anomalies precisely of the type that had apparently caught Whitman and Pearce's attention.

By eleven-thirty, Isla had compiled enough information to present to Sullivan. She thanked Trevor for his assistance and gathered the most relevant documents into a portfolio.

As she walked toward the conference room where they'd agreed to meet, her phone buzzed with a text from Sullivan:

Found connection between Bradley and Nash Global through shell companies. Meet me in conference room C. Bringing lunch.

Isla felt a surge of anticipation. If Sullivan had independently discovered links between Bradley's smuggling operation and Nash Global, their separate investigations were converging on the same target—always a promising sign in complex cases.

She quickened her pace, eager to compare findings and determine their next steps. For the first time since arriving in Duluth, she felt the familiar rhythm of a case starting to come together, pieces aligning into a recognizable pattern. Perhaps they could crack this within the forty-eight-hour deadline after all.

Sullivan was already in the conference room when she arrived, a map of Great Lakes shipping routes spread across the table and two paper bags from a local sandwich shop placed to the side. The slight shadows under his eyes suggested he'd gotten no more sleep than she had, but his expression was alert and focused.

"What did you find?" he asked as she entered, not bothering with preliminaries.

Isla set her portfolio on the table and began arranging the key documents. "Nash Global Shipping has containers consistently showing weight discrepancies—always heavier at arrival than departure, always by 30 to 40 kilograms. The pattern appears across dozens of shipments over the past six months."

She laid out the spreadsheets and manifest copies. "More importantly, Nash has been strategically acquiring smaller shipping companies to control specific routes between U.S. and Canadian ports, particularly routes handling high-value cargo."

Sullivan nodded, unsurprised. "That tracks with what I found. Bradley's operation wasn't isolated. He was connected to a larger network." He pointed to a section of his map where several shipping routes were highlighted in red. "These routes—all now controlled by Nash Global subsidiaries—correspond exactly with the areas where Bradley was conducting his smuggling operations."

He shuffled through a stack of papers, extracting a complex diagram of corporate entities. "It gets better. Bradley's boat was officially contracted to a fishing company called North Point Marine. North Point is owned by Lakeside Holdings LLC, which is itself owned by a Cayman Islands shell company called Blue Harbor Investments."

"Let me guess," Isla said, seeing where this was heading. "Blue Harbor connects back to Nash Global somehow."

Sullivan's expression confirmed her suspicion. "Blue Harbor's primary banking relationship is with First Maritime Financial, where Gregory Nash served as chairman before starting Nash Global. The current chairman is Nash's brother-in-law."

Isla absorbed this information, the connections crystallizing in her mind. "So, Nash Global creates a corporate maze to distance themselves from Bradley's smuggling operation while using their legitimate shipping business as cover for whatever larger operation Whitman and Pearce discovered."

"Exactly," Sullivan agreed. "Bradley was just one small piece of a much larger operation. The weapons and drugs he was smuggling might not even be the main concern—possibly just a side business leveraging the same infrastructure."

Isla considered their findings. "Nash is too prominent, too politically connected to get his hands dirty with murder. But he'd have people to handle the messy aspects of his business."

"People who would eliminate threats like Whitman and Pearce," Sullivan finished her thought.

Isla gathered the documents, organizing them into a coherent presentation. "We need to talk to Nash directly. See how he reacts to pointed questions about weight discrepancies and Bradley's operation. Even if he's careful, we might catch something in his behavior."

Sullivan checked his watch. "His company headquarters is about fifteen minutes from here. I called while waiting for you—told his assistant we had routine questions about port security following recent incidents. We're expected at twelve-thirty."

Isla raised an eyebrow, impressed by his foresight. "You were confident we'd be focusing on Nash?"

A slight shrug was his only response. "The evidence was pointing that way. Better to have the appointment already set."

He pushed one of the sandwich bags toward her. "Eat something before we go. Can't interrogate potential murder conspirators on an empty stomach."

The casual comment might have been Sullivan's attempt at humor, but it reflected the gravity of their situation. If their suspicions about Nash were correct, they were preparing to question a powerful businessman with political connections about his potential involvement in a criminal enterprise that had already resulted in two murders.

Isla unwrapped the sandwich, realizing she hadn't eaten since a hastily consumed protein bar that morning. Sullivan was right—they needed to be at their sharpest for this conversation. Nash would be calculating and careful, revealing nothing he didn't intend to.

But even the most composed individuals had tells—micro expressions, verbal patterns, physiological responses they couldn't fully control. Isla had been trained to spot such indicators, and before Miami, she'd been considered one of the Bureau's most promising behavioral analysts.

This interview would test those skills against an adversary with much to hide and the resources to conceal it effectively. The challenge energized her, cutting through the fatigue of the past forty-eight hours and replacing it with focused determination.

As they ate quickly and gathered their materials, Isla felt the familiar pre-interview tension—not anxiety but heightened awareness, senses sharpening in preparation for the careful dance of questions and responses to come.

They had forty-eight hours to break this case open, and Gregory Nash might be the key to everything. She intended to make this conversation count.

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