As the old man read the emails one side of his mouth curled up into a snarl. “How?” he demanded. “How do they do this without my knowing?”

Tan nodded to Shan. “We don’t know exactly,” Shan confessed. “We didn’t want to show up with forensic accountants. It would scare them off their game. We do know about a death warrant you signed. They needed to eliminate a man who threatened them, so they made a preemptive strike. Called him corrupt. We know the signature of the governor was forged but your chop appeared authentic.”

“Impossible!” the old snake hissed. “I gave no such order!”

“Religious Affairs tried to look into what they were doing at the Five Claws,” Tan added. “They seemed to resent the intrusion, so they burned down their warehouse in Lhasa.”

The Commissar’s breath grew rapid and his throat seemed to creak as he tried to form words. “That fire on Kunming Road?” he demanded. When Shan nodded, he seized a wineglass and shattered it against the wall.

Shan did not react, even though it felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “They are very clever, very sure of themselves,” Tan continued. “They scored a big victory at Larung Gar then moved on to the Five Claws. They call themselves the Amban Council.”

Another low hiss escaped the Commissar’s lips. He was the Amban, and Shan knew now that he had no council. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the copy of Metok’s death warrant. He stared at his chop on it for several long, rattling breaths. Murder and corruption were routine aspects of the political chess game the Commissar had played for decades. Far more grievous would be the sin of forging his personal chop.“Larung Gar, you say,” the old man said. “Give me the names on this so-called Council,” he ordered, then turned the envelope over and pushed a fountain pen toward Shan.

The staff began to retreat, as if sensing an imminent eruption. The older woman produced a bottle of pills and set it beside the Commissar, who swatted it to the floor. His lips curled and his hands began to shake. “Larung Gar!” he repeated. The woman began to rub his neck. He seized a fork and made a vicious swing toward her, but she easily dodged the blow, as if expecting it, and snapped at him to behave.