Chapter 12 - Operation Clean SlateDawn was breaking over the city, painting the skyline in bruised shades of violet and gold. Inside the war room of Alistair’s mansion—once a secret study, now a tactical command center—twelve screens flickered with real-time data feeds.
Viktor stood before the main monitor, his wounded shoulder bandaged under a fresh black tactical shirt, tapping furiously at a mechanical keyboard.
“First wave of asset freezes has hit the Swiss accounts,” Viktor announced, his face lit by the green glow of the terminal. “The Syndicate’s offshore holdings are being routed into municipal funds and public community programs across the East Side.”
Renley sat in the large leather armchair, a steaming mug of hot cocoa between her hands, watching the numbers scroll by. “Does that mean... the community kitchen gets funding?”
Alistair walked into the room carrying a thick stack of manila folders, placing them gently on the desk beside her. “Not just funding, Renley. Complete immunity, permanent backing, and enough resources to feed every person in this city who needs a warm meal.”
Renley’s eyes widened. “Mr. Pike would have loved that.”
“Yes, he would have,” Alistair said softly, pulling up a chair beside her. But his expression turned serious as he opened the top folder. “However, taking down their money is only half the battle. Cruz had a inner circle—the Iron Directorate. Five men who run the streets from the shadows. And they know we have the master drive.”
Before Alistair could elaborate, the heavy security phone on the desk shrilled piercingly.
May you like
Viktor picked it up, listened for three seconds, and his face instantly turned pale. “Boss. You need to hear this. The police precinct just received an anonymous tip. They’re executing a high-priority raid warrant on your estate within the hour.”
Alistair stood up slowly, a cold, calculated smile returning to his face. “They think they can use the law against us? They don’t realize the law is finally reading Walter’s ledger.”
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