Chapter 10
The dense smoke from the stun grenades slowly drifted toward the shattered terrace doors, mixing with the cool rain blowing in from the storm outside. The lead federal agent stared at the unmarked gold badge in disbelief, his hand hovering uncertainly near his holster before he slowly pulled it away.
“Executive Directive 88-B was declassified ten years ago,” the federal agent protested, his voice tight with controlled anger. “You have no jurisdiction over an active DOJ financial seizure.”
The tactical commander didn't blink, his expression hidden behind the tinted visor of his matte-black helmet. He stepped closer, towering over the agent as he maintained his outstretched hand.
“Directive 88-B is invoked whenever national security intersects with systemic institutional corruption,” the commander replied, his voice modulated and devoid of human warmth. “Hand over the evidence, Agent. Now.”
Elena remained on her knees near the edge of the Persian rug, her fingers brushing against a stray piece of broken crystal. The small drop of blood behind her ear had begun to ache again from the concussive blast, but she ignored the pain, her mind racing as she analyzed the insignia on the commander’s shoulder armor. It wasn't standard military or DOJ; it was the private security wing of the Federal Reserve oversight office—the shadow bureau that answered only to the Treasury Secretary.
Evelyn, still leaning heavily on her cane, glared up at the commander with undisguised hatred.
“You think taking the keys and the ledgers erases what your agency built this country on?” Evelyn rasped, her voice dripping with venom. “The entire financial sector is built on the foundations my husband laid down in the seventies. If we fall, the entire market collapses within twenty-four hours.”
The commander turned his visor slowly toward Evelyn, his posture rigid. “The market will correct itself, Mrs. Vance. Corrupt dynasties do not.”
Without waiting for further protest, the commander snatched the evidence bags containing the brass key and the micro-sd cufflink directly from the hesitant hands of the local federal agent.
Julian let out a guttural, defeated groan from where he was still pinned to the floor by the tactical operatives, his expensive tuxedo ruined beyond recognition.
“They’re going to burn the archives,” Julian whispered, staring blankly at the floorboards. “They’re going to erase everything to protect the banks.”
Elena slowly pushed herself up from the floor, her clothes dusty and her breathing ragged. She looked at the tactical commander, who was already turning toward the private hallway leading down to the basement vault.
“You aren't taking that evidence to secure a trial, are you?” Elena asked, her voice cutting clearly through the lingering noise of the room.
May you like
The commander paused at the threshold of the hallway, turning his helmeted head back toward her for a fraction of a second.
“There is no trial, Ms. Vance,” the commander replied flatly. “There is only containment.”
