Chapter 4 - The Rat’s Trap
By noon, the rain had begun to pelt the reinforced glass of my estate’s study. The massive mahogany desk was clear except for a secure terminal and a single leather portfolio.
Julian Thorne arrived exactly at 12:01 PM. He looked like a man who had aged ten years in twelve hours—sweating profusely, his expensive silk tie loosened, his eyes darting frantically toward the armed guards stationed at the heavy double doors.
He rushed across the Persian rug, slamming a heavy black flash drive onto my desk. “It’s all here. Every corrupt cop, every bribed judge, every penny of illicit funding routed through the municipal accounts. Please… Mr. Sinclair… I gave you what you wanted.”
I didn't touch the drive immediately. I sat back in my leather chair, lacing my fingers together, studying him with cold detachment. “You helped finance the terror campaign of a family that beat a pregnant woman nearly to death, Julian. Did you really think a flash drive would wipe the slate clean?”
Julian’s face went pale. He stumbled backward, his voice rising in panic. “You gave me your word! You said—!”
“I said I would let the federal task force know you cooperated,” I interrupted smoothly. “I never said they wouldn't indict you for wire fraud, tax evasion, and conspiracy.”
Before Julian could scream or lunge toward the door, Mateo—one of my top security coordinators—stepped out from the alcove behind the bookshelf, a pair of heavy zip-ties in hand. Within seconds, Julian was subdued, his frantic pleas muffled as he was hauled out toward the waiting transport vehicle bound for federal custody.
Another rotten pillar of the city’s underworld, removed with surgical precision.
As the study door clicked shut, my secure terminal beeped. A message flashed across the encrypted monitor from the hospital.
May you like
‘Patient has regained full consciousness. She is asking for you.’
My heart skipped a beat. I stood up so fast my chair rolled back against the wood paneling, grabbed my coat, and bolted for the door.
