Chapter 4 - THE FEDS ARRIVE—AND THE PLOT THICKENSBefore the Thornes could process their total ruin, heavy tactical boots thundered down the cellar stairs. But these weren't my men.
Federal agents in full FBI counter-terrorism gear, accompanied by federal marshals, flooded the room. At the front stood Director Vance of the DOJ’s special investigations division—a man I had done black-ops favors for back during the height of the Cold War.
Director Vance took one look at the tied-up Thornes, then looked at me, letting out a long sigh.
“Elias, I told you when you retired that you needed to leave the wetwork to the agency,” Director Vance said, though there was a faint hint of a smirk on his face. “You just bypassed every legal protocol in the book and raided a prominent family estate.”
“Check the laptop Marcus handed you, Director,” I replied smoothly. “You didn't just get a rescue operation; you just solved a twenty-year string of missing persons cases and multi-billion-dollar international money laundering schemes. I’d say that warrants a pardon for trespassing.”
Vance glanced down at the tablet Marcus handed over. His eyebrows shot up as he scrolled through the encrypted files.
“Good Lord, Julian... you and your father were funneling cash directly through shell companies linked to sanctioned cartels?” Vance looked up, his expression hardening as he motioned to the marshals. “Take them all into custody. Federal holding, maximum security. No bail. No phone calls.”
As Julian and Arthur were dragged away, kicking and screaming obscenities, Julian managed to twist his neck around, fixing me with a look of pure, unadulterated venom.
“You think you won, Vale?!” Julian screamed as they hauled him toward the stairs. “You got your daughter back, but you have no idea what forces you just pissed off! The people who backed our syndicate—they don't care about arrest warrants! They're coming for her! They're coming for all of you!”
The heavy cellar door slammed shut, cutting off his frantic shrieks.
I didn't blink. Threats from men like Julian Thorne were like background noise to someone who had hunted warlords across deserts and jungles.
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“Elias,” Director Vance said quietly, stepping closer to me once the room cleared out a bit. “Julian wasn't entirely bluffing. The Thorne family was just a front-end laundry mat for a much larger, international shadow syndicate known as the 'Ouroboros Group.' We've been tracking them for five years. We thought Julian was just a minor associate, but his father’s wire transfers... they point to a high-ranking sleeper cell right here on domestic soil.”
“Let them come,” I said coldly. “My war didn't end when I took off the uniform. It just got personal.”
