Chapter 7 - Confronting Richard Voss and the Money Trail
Richard Voss spun around, drawing his shoulder-holstered weapon with surprising speed, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was standing in the kitchen archway.
He didn't see a terrified housewife. He saw a woman standing with a professional tactical stance, holding a government-issue firearm with absolute composure, flanked by two of his own men lying unconscious on the floor.
"Who the hell are you?" Voss snarled, raising his pistol toward my chest, his hands shaking slightly. "Where are my men?"
"Your men are taking a nap," I said, stepping out of the kitchen shadows into the dim ambient light of the living room. "And you, Richard, are about to have a very long conversation with the Department of Justice."
Daniel stared at me from across the room, his jaw hanging open so wide I thought it might dislocate.
"Claire?" Daniel whispered, his voice trembling violently. "What... what are you doing here? How do you have a gun? Who are these men?"
"Shut up, Daniel," I said without taking my eyes off Voss. "You’ve done enough talking for one lifetime."
Voss’s eyes narrowed as he studied my posture, the way I held the weapon, the cold, calculating expression in my eyes. Recognition flickered across his face—not of my face, but of my type. The type of federal agent he had spent his entire criminal career bribing, dodging, and occasionally running from.
"You're Bureau," Voss whispered, a thin smile touching the corners of his mouth. "An agent. Retired? Or rogue?"
"Retired," I replied, stepping closer, closing the distance between us with deliberate, threatening calm. "Which means I don't have to read you your rights before I put a bullet in your shoulder if you twitch that finger."
Voss laughed nervously, his weapon wavering. "You think you can just walk in here and arrest me? My lawyers own half the judges in this state. The local sheriff is on my payroll. When the police arrive—"
"The local sheriff isn't coming," a voice crackled through my earpiece, piped directly into the small speaker hidden in my ear.
Mark Rivera’s voice came through loud and clear: "This is Special Agent Mark Rivera, FBI Organized Crime Division. Federal jurisdiction invoked under asset forfeiture act 2026-B. State troopers are currently securing the perimeter and placing the local sheriff under administrative arrest for obstruction of justice. Outstanding warrants for Richard Voss are now active nationwide."
I smiled faintly, keeping my eyes locked on Voss’s finger. "Hear that, Richard? That’s the sound of your empire dissolving into federal paperwork."
Voss’s face turned the color of ash. In a desperate, blind motion, he tried to raise his pistol to fire.
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I didn't hesitate. I shifted my weight, fired a single, clean shot that shattered the expensive imported vase inches from his head, and simultaneously lunged forward, slamming the heel of my hand against his wrist.
Voss screamed as his pistol dropped to the floor. I swept his legs out, drove him face-down onto the plush rug, and zip-tied his wrists behind his back with lightning speed before he could draw a breath.
