Chapter 13 - The Shadow Over WisconsinWithin two hours of Emily’s revelation, I stood in Special Agent Vance’s downtown field office, laying out a topographical map of northern Wisconsin across his mahogany desk.
"The cabin is registered under an LLC called Vanguard Holdings—another shell company Jonathan set up using the dead man's identity," Agent Vance explained, tapping a red marker against a heavily forested peninsula bordering a remote glacial lake. "Our surveillance teams have tried approaching it twice in the past, but the property is rigged with motion sensors and private security patrols."
"If Michael left instructions or documents there regarding his financial network or other victims, we need to find them before his associates do," I insisted, crossing my arms defensively. "Emily remembers him talking about an automatic trigger. If there's another shoe to drop, I want to know now."
Vance studied my face for a long moment, weighing the risks. Finally, he nodded. "All right, Sarah. But you aren't going alone. I'm assigning a tactical unit to secure the perimeter. We fly out tonight."
The helicopter ride over the sprawling pine forests of Wisconsin was silent and tense. Below us, the dark surface of the lake reflected the pale moonlight like a sheet of hammered obsidian. As the chopper touched down in a clearing a half-mile from the cabin, the biting autumn wind whipped our jackets against our chests.
Agent Vance motioned for the tactical team to fan out. "Stay behind me, Sarah. We don't know what kind of automated defenses or booby traps are waiting inside."
We crept through the dense underbrush, our boots crunching softly against frost-covered pine needles. Ahead of us, the cabin loomed out of the darkness—a brooding, two-story timber structure with boarded-up windows and a rusted padlock hanging from the front porch door.
Vance signaled his lead operative to cut the lock. With a sharp clack, the heavy iron shackle fell away.
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As the front door creaked open, a foul, stagnant odor drifted out into the night air—a mix of damp earth and old chemicals. But it was what lay on the central wooden table in the living room that made Agent Vance instantly draw his service weapon.
Resting on the table was an old laptop wired directly to a satellite transceiver, and beside it was a digital countdown clock flashing in bright red LED numbers: 04:12:50... 04:12:49...
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