Chapter 17 - The Counter-Strike
Shivering and soaked to the bone, we regrouped inside a safehouse warehouse overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge at dawn. Marcus patched up a grazing wound on his shoulder while Dante poured two cups of black coffee, handing me one without a word.
"They're burning their remaining assets," Dante said, staring out the window at the morning light breaking over the skyline. "If Vanguard sent a hit squad into the old archives, it means the journals you found contain names that reach far beyond Wall Street. They reach into federal intelligence and political oversight committees."
"Then we don't hide," I said, taking a sip of the hot coffee, the warmth spreading through my chest and dissolving the last remnants of fear. "We take the journals, broadcast the audio logs to every major financial news network simultaneously, and trigger a hostile seizure of Vanguard's domestic holdings."
Dante looked at me, a slow, fierce smile breaking across his face. "You want to declare war on an international syndicate."
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"I want to finish what my mother started," I replied, standing up straight. "And I want you by my side when we do it."
"Always," Dante said, extending his hand.
