Michael’s words hung in the sterile air of the hallway, heavy as wet lead. A sedative. In an estate guarded like a nuclear silo, someone had slipped a chemical compound into the bloodstream of a quiet, unassuming housemaid, and my security network had treated it like a ghost walking through walls.

“Federal dispatch lost signal with the convoy three miles north of the estate, right near the old rail yards,” Daniel said, pulling up a satellite feed on the main monitor. “No gunfire reported, no distress signal. The transport van simply vanished off the GPS grid, and the backup units found the convoy abandoned on the highway with the drivers locked unconscious in the back.”

“Kane didn't escape,” I muttered, realizing the terrifying truth with absolute clarity. “He was traded.”

“Traded by whom?”

“By the very people whose names are on that flash drive,” Sarah interjected, stepping back into the room with her weapon drawn. “If Kane’s internal directory is public, half the federal judiciary and state legislature are going down with him. Someone high up decided they couldn't afford to let him reach a federal courtroom.”

My mind raced through the tactical possibilities. If Kane was loose, he wouldn't run. He was a proud, vindictive animal backed into a corner, and he knew exactly where the weak points of my estate were.

“Get Claire and Lily down into the deep bunker beneath the boathouse immediately,” I ordered, grabbing my Sig Sauer from the desk holster. “Daniel, lock down every internal bulkhead and cut the exterior power grid. If anyone sets foot on this property tonight, make sure they don't leave.”