Chapter 6 - The Crack in the Armor
The tension at the top of the syndicate was reaching a boiling point. Through the hidden cameras and audio bugs Maya and Nora had managed to plant inside the Reyes Corporation penthouse—courtesy of a bribed night-shift cleaning crew—we listened in on their private meetings.
"What do you mean the federal auditors are freezing the accounts?" Julian Reyes roared, his voice echoing through the hidden speaker in our basement. "You told me the port operations were clean, Marcus!"
"They were clean!" Marcus snapped back, his voice tight with rising panic. "Somebody leaked the manifests from three years ago—the old files! The only person who had access to those files besides me was..."
Marcus stopped dead.
In our basement, Nora held her breath.
"...was Damian," Marcus finished slowly. "Which is impossible. We watched him drink the wine. We watched him turn blue."
"Then who is leaking our books, Marcus?!" Julian slammed his fist onto a mahogany desk. "The board is in a panic! The cartel contacts in Mexico are threatening to pull out because our bank accounts are flagged! If we don't plug this leak by tomorrow, we're all going to federal prison—or worse!"
I muted the speaker and smiled grimly. They were turning on each other. Fear is a terrible foundation for an alliance; the moment things go wrong, paranoia eats the partners alive.
"Time for phase two," I said, standing up and slipping a sleek, heavy trench coat over my shoulders.
"Where are you going?" Maya asked, grabbing the edge of my coat with a look of sudden alarm. "It's too dangerous to go above ground. If Marcus sees you—"
"Marcus won't see me coming," I interrupted, kneeling down so I was eye-level with the two girls who had saved my life. "You two have given me a second chance at life, and you've given me the tools to reclaim my house. But some scores have to be settled face-to-face."
Nora stared at me for a long moment, her fierce expression softening just a fraction. She reached into her pocket and handed me a small, heavy object—a custom-engraved 1911 pistol with my family crest stamped into the grip, an heirloom I thought I had lost forever in the alley.
"We pulled it from the storm drain three blocks away from where we found you," Nora said quietly. "We cleaned it. It's ready."
I took the weapon, feeling the familiar, reassuring weight of steel in my palm. "Thank you, Nora. Stay here, lock the storm door, and monitor the feeds. If I'm not back by sunrise, execute protocol Delta."
May you like
"What's protocol Delta?" Maya asked.
"Upload the entire archive of Marcus and Julian's criminal confessions to every news station, federal agency, and cartel boss west of the Mississippi," I said coldly. "Let the whole house burn down."
