Chapter 6
The phone clicked twice before a crisp, professional voice answered on the other end. "Financial Crimes Division, Detective Vance speaking."
Lisa kept her eyes locked on Ramon, who lunged forward as if to swat the phone from her hand, only to freeze when he saw the glowing red REC indicator on her screen. "Detective Vance, this is Lisa Santos. I’m currently at Le Pavilion restaurant on 5th Avenue. My husband, Ramon Santos, and his associate, Elena Cruz, are attempting to flee the country with stolen assets, forged property deeds, and documents detailing millions in corporate embezzlement."
Detective Vance’s tone shifted instantly from routine boredom to razor-sharp alertness. "Stay right where you are, Mrs. Santos. Do not let either of them leave the premises. I have a unit three blocks away that can be at your location in under four minutes."
"Understood," Lisa said, hanging up before Ramon could lunge at her again.
Ramon slumped against the back of a neighboring chair, his hands covering his face as dry, racking sobs finally broke through his manufactured composure. "Lisa... please. If the federal marshals pick me up, I’m looking at twenty years. We have a daughter. Think of Maya."
"You should have thought of Maya before you sold her college fund to buy a penthouse in Zurich," Lisa said, her voice devoid of any lingering warmth or mercy. The grief she had felt moments ago had transmuted into an unyielding shield of self-preservation.
Elena didn't panic. She calmly set the black suitcase down on the floor beside her feet, uncrossed her arms, and checked her wristwatch with chilling composure. She looked at Lisa not with fear, but with a strange, dark curiosity.
"You think calling the police saves you, Lisa?" Elena asked softly, stepping closer without making a threatening move. "Ramon didn't just embezzle from his company. The company he stole from isn't a normal corporation. It’s a front for an international syndicate that doesn't care about federal prison sentences. Once they realize the accounts are frozen and the suitcase is here, they won't wait for a trial."
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Lisa’s hand tightened around her phone. "What are you talking about?"
Before Elena could answer, the front glass doors of the restaurant swung open with a heavy crash. Two men in dark suits and sunglasses stepped into the warmly lit dining room, their heavy footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor with deliberate, menacing rhythm. They didn't look like local police officers; their posture was too rigid, their eyes scanning the room with the practiced sweep of private security or something far darker.
