Chapter 9 - The Final AmbushThe crunch of Sloane’s designer heels against the broken asphalt was the only sound in the heavy, fog-drenched air. She approached the hood of my SUV, her eyes entirely locked on the glowing screen of the laptop. She didn't look at me. She only looked at the five million dollars she believed was one click away.
"Hand over the drives, Sloane," I said, crossing my arms, dropping the terrified victim act entirely. My voice was sharp, commanding, and absolutely devoid of fear.
Sloane frowned, sensing the sudden, drastic shift in my demeanor. She hesitated, clutching the black waterproof case a little tighter. "Hit the transfer button first. I want to see the confirmation screen."
"That’s not how this works," I said coldly.
Suddenly, Sloane’s cell phone began to vibrate violently in her coat pocket.
She flinched, pulling it out. The caller ID flashed UNKNOWN. She answered it, her eyes never leaving my face. "Hello?"
Even from three feet away, I could hear the sheer, unfiltered panic screaming from the other end of the line. It was Sterling.
"Sloane! Get out of there!" Sterling’s voice was hysterical, entirely stripped of his usual D.C. fixer arrogance. "It’s a trap! The moment I logged into the Cayman portal, the feds raided my cell! They found the phone! They have the IP logs! Run!"
Sloane’s face drained of every ounce of color. The phone slipped from her fingers, shattering on the asphalt. She looked at the laptop screen, then looked up at me, absolute horror widening her eyes as she finally realized I had played her perfectly.
"You set us up," Sloane breathed, stumbling backward.
"I told you three years ago that I wasn't your victim anymore," I said, a dark, victorious satisfaction washing over me.
"FBI! Freeze! Put your hands in the air!"
The command echoed like a thunderclap across the empty lot. From the shadows of the rusted shipping containers and the decayed warehouses, a dozen heavily armed federal agents materialized, their weapons raised and laser sights locked directly onto Sloane’s chest.
Sloane screamed, a pathetic, broken sound, dropping the hard drive case onto the ground and throwing her hands above her head.
Julian stepped out of the backseat of my SUV, buttoning his trench coat with effortless grace. He walked over, picked up the dropped hard drive case, and handed it to the lead FBI agent approaching the vehicle.
"Special Agent Reynolds," Julian said smoothly, exchanging a nod with the officer. "The hard drives containing the original forgery software are in that case. I believe that should wrap up your extortion and wire fraud investigation quite nicely."
"We got him, Mr. Carter," Agent Reynolds smiled grimly. "Sterling Vance was caught red-handed operating the offshore portal from a contraband device. The judge has already formally revoked his bail appeal. He’s going to maximum security."
Two agents grabbed Sloane, violently forcing her arms behind her back to snap heavy steel handcuffs onto her wrists.
"Elena, please!" Sloane sobbed hysterically as they dragged her toward a waiting tactical vehicle. "He made me do it! He manipulated me! I didn't want to hurt you!"
I walked slowly toward her, stopping just inches away from her tear-streaked, ruined face.
"Sterling didn't manipulate you, Sloane," I said, my voice echoing with absolute, uncompromising finality. "You chose the money. You chose the cruelty. You tried to burn my family to the ground to save yourself. Have a wonderful time in federal prison. I hear the fashion is dreadful."
I turned my back on her and walked away. The heavy doors of the FBI transport van slammed shut, silencing her pathetic wails forever.
The nightmare was over. The ghost had been dragged out of the shadows, exposed to the blinding light of justice, and utterly destroyed.
Julian walked up beside me, wrapping a strong, protective arm around my waist. He looked at me with a reverence that made my breath catch in my throat.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, the fierce federal prosecutor fading away, leaving only the man who loved me.
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I looked out over the fog-lifting river, feeling a profound, immense weight completely evaporate from my soul. The air smelled cleaner. The world looked brighter.
"I’m more than okay," I smiled, leaning my head against his solid shoulder. "I am entirely free."
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