Chapter 8 - THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE“Miriam?!” I muttered, spinning around and tapping my earpiece. “Miller! Run a trace on Miriam Thorne’s federal holding status right now!”
Static crackled on the comms for a few agonizing seconds before Miller’s voice came back, laced with panic.
“Boss... we have a massive problem. Miriam Thorne was being transported to federal holding twenty minutes ago in a secure van. But the transport vehicle never arrived at the facility.”
“Explain!” I ordered sharply, breaking into a sprint toward the command post set up in the hospital's security office.
“The transport van was intercepted by a civilian ambulance three miles outside the hospital,” Miller typed furiously on his keyboard, pulling up traffic camera footage on the main monitor. “The guards inside... they weren't federal marshals. They were Ouroboros sleepers. They switched vehicles, and Miriam just walked out of the back of the ambulance into a private helicopter parked at an abandoned industrial helipad.”
On the screen, the footage showed Miriam stepping out of the van, stripping off her handcuffs with a small hidden key, and smiling directly up at a traffic camera before boarding a sleek black chopper.
She wasn't just a trophy wife terrified of her husband's family.
She was the high-ranking financial architect of the entire Ouroboros syndicate in North America. Julian and Arthur were just useful idiots—puppets she manipulated to shield her true identity while she funnelled billions through shell companies.
“She played everyone,” Marcus said, walking into the security room behind me. “Even the Thornes had no idea who she really was.”
“She’s heading for the coast,” I said, analyzing the flight vector on the tactical map. “Private airstrip in Delaware. From there, she catches an international private jet to Zurich before the global asset freeze locks her accounts.”
I turned toward the armory lockers lining the back wall of the room. I popped the heavy steel latch, revealing rows of tactical gear, suppressed carbines, and breaching charges.
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“Are we going hunting, boss?” Marcus asked, a grim smile touching the corner of his mouth.
“We’re finishing this,” I said, strapping a tactical harness across my chest. “Get the bird prepped. Full weapons loadout. No jurisdiction. No paperwork.”
