flash
The neon lights of Washington D.C. blurred past the window of the rideshare as the heavy silence of the night pressed against my chest. My phone vibrated relentlessly in my palm, a digital heartbeat of panic. Thane’s name flashed across the screen for the twelfth time. I silenced it, tossing the device onto the seat beside me, my mind racing through the fragments of the evening. / Chapter 4 / 17

Chapter 7 - The Counter-Strike

I didn't pack a suitcase. Instead, I opened my encrypted laptop and connected to a secure server. It was time to pull the trigger on phase two.

Genevieve Vance’s death hadn't been an accident. My preliminary digital sweep of the estate's internal financial records—harvested during a brief moment when Thane left his laptop open on our honeymoon—revealed that Genevieve had discovered the Sterling family empire was built on a massive, multi-million-dollar Medicare fraud and asset-laundering scheme. She hadn't slipped in the pool; she had been eliminated to protect their illicit fortune, just as they were preparing to do to me.

My phone pinged with an alert from a burner email address. It was the former housekeeper.

“They know you found out about Genevieve. Evangeline just transferred title of all assets into offshore trusts to shield them from the SEC investigation you're spearheading. They are planning to file a missing persons report on you tonight, claiming you had a psychotic break.”

My blood turned to ice, but my focus sharpened into laser-like precision. They were moving faster than I anticipated. I needed to strike before their legal machinery could crush me.

I picked up my secure satellite phone and dialed a direct extension at the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s White-Collar Crime Division.

"Agent Miller," a gruff, authoritative voice answered.

"Agent Miller, this is Lead Investigator Eloan Vance—operating undercover as Eloan Sterling. I have finalized the ledger decryption for the Sterling Foundation. We have the wire transfers, the offshore shell accounts, and the physical evidence of corporate homicide. I am authorizing an immediate raid on the Georgetown estate."

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Daniel stepped toward the bed, his polished leather shoes squeaking against the pristine hospital linoleum. He reached for the tray table, his fingers brushing the edge of the papers. His voice was low, coated in a practiced, corporate calm that made my stomach churn worse than the spiked blood pressure.

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There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "Copy that, Agent. We've been waiting for this green light for two years. SWAP teams are mobilizing now. We execute in forty-five minutes."

I slammed the laptop shut, grabbed my coat, and walked out the door. The trap they had laid for me was about to snap shut on them.

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