Chapter 7 - THE CALL FROM THE FEDSBefore Adrian could process the threat, the heavy steel security doors at the back of the opera house blew open with a deafening crash.
Heavy boots stomped into the hall. Dozens of federal agents in tactical gear, led by the Department of Justice and Homeland Security, flooded the aisles, automatic rifles raised and ready.
"Federal agents! Nobody move! Drop your weapons!" a voice boomed through a megaphone.
Panic erupted. Syndicate bosses dove beneath velvet-upholstered seats; corrupt politicians scrambled toward side exits only to find them blocked by tactical teams.
Adrian spun around, desperately raising his pistol toward the incoming federal agents, but a red laser dot flickered instantly across his forehead.
"Adrian Moretti! Drop the weapon or we will open fire!" the lead agent commanded, stepping forward.
Adrian stood frozen on the stage, his chest heaving. He looked at the gun in his hand, then at the federal agents closing in from every direction, and finally back at me. He realized, with crushing certainty, that his empire had just collapsed in less than five minutes.
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"You ruined everything," Adrian whispered, his voice cracking with defeated rage as the weapon slipped from his fingers and clattered loudly against the stage floor.
"No, Adrian," I said, stepping past him as federal agents swarmed the stage, forcing him to his knees and snapping heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists. "I just balanced the books."
