Chapter 16 - The Trap is Sprung
Arthur Sterling didn't even turn around, assuming the chime belonged to more of his hired muscle.
"Don't waste my time with threats, little girl," Sterling scoffed, leaning in closer. "You're dealing with men who wrote the laws this city was built on."
"Actually, Arthur," a calm, authoritative voice echoed from the elevator vestibule, "we wrote the indictments that are about to put you away for the rest of your natural life."
Sterling whipped around.
Stepping out of the elevator wasn't more corporate thugs. It was the Director of the FBI’s Chicago Field Office, flanked by six federal agents in full tactical gear, their federal badges shining brightly under the penthouse lights. Behind them walked Julian Vance and Caroline Hastings, carrying stacks of authenticated financial records.
Arthur Sterling’s face drained of color, his aristocratic composure shattering in an instant. "This... this is an illegal entrapment! You have no jurisdiction—"
"Federal jurisdiction covers interstate corporate racketeering, tax evasion, and municipal bribery, Mr. Sterling," the FBI Director interrupted smoothly, stepping forward and holding out an arrest warrant. "And thanks to the complete digital forensic download provided by Ms. Vance’s tech firm, we have every single shell company, offshore bribe, and extortion plot your Board of Seven has operated for the last thirty years."
Sterling lunged backward, his hand darting toward his inner suit jacket to grab a burner phone or a panic button, but two federal agents were already on him, slamming him onto the marble floor with practiced, brutal efficiency.
"Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am?!" Sterling roared, his voice echoing off the glass walls as the steel cuffs snapped shut around his wrists.
"You're inmate number 88452, Arthur," I said softly, standing up slowly from my desk and walking around to look down at him. "Welcome to the real world. It builds character."
As Sterling was dragged away, sputtering curses and empty threats, the federal agents systematically rounded up his two associates, clearing the fiftieth floor in minutes.
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Julian walked over to my desk, handing me a fresh cup of coffee with a bright grin. "Well, that cleans out the old guard. Chicago real estate is officially ours."
"Not ours, Julian," I corrected him, taking a sip of the warm coffee and looking out at the glittering skyline where the city lights stretched endlessly into the dark horizon. "Mine. For my sons."
