“They were protecting their savings from your scheme,” I countered. “Just like you stole my college fund and their previous investments.”
“I reallocated family resources to more promising ventures,” he corrected. “Someone with your limited business acumen wouldn’t understand the complexities.”
“I understand fraud and money laundering perfectly well,” I said coldly. “And so will a jury.”
Agent Dawson stepped forward.
“There won’t be any jury, Deputy. You’ve walked into a situation you can’t control. Your backup is too far away to help, and by the time they arrive, we’ll be gone and this building will be ash.”
My father straightened in his chair.
“Troy, this is madness. We’re family.”
“Family doesn’t betray family,” Uncle Troy snapped. “You chose her side. The disappointment. The dropout.”
“The federal officer,” I corrected. “And you’re wrong about backup. My team is already in position.”
Dawson smirked.
“Bluffing won’t help you. We’ve been monitoring all law enforcement channels. The main response force is still fifteen minutes out, minimum.”
He was right about the main force, but not about Matthews and Rodriguez. Through my earpiece, I heard Matthews whisper,
“In position at the east window. Rodriguez has neutralized the loading dock guard. We have clear shots on both targets.”
I needed to keep them talking.
“So, what’s your plan? Kill federal officers and flee the country? You won’t get far.”
“My plan,” Uncle Troy said, standing and moving toward a laptop on the desk, “is to make it look like an unfortunate accident during a sting operation gone wrong. Gas leak, electrical spark. Tragic, but not suspicious.”
He turned the laptop to show a timer counting down—eight minutes remaining—on what was clearly a detonator for explosives.
“Meanwhile, with Agent Dawson’s help, I’ll be on my private jet to a country with no extradition treaty before anyone realizes what happened.”
“And your source in the Marshals’ office?” I asked, stalling for time. “The one who exposed me.”
“Insurance policy,” Dawson replied smugly. “High enough in your chain of command to deflect any investigation that gets too close.”
That revelation hit hard. Someone senior in our office, possibly even with direct authority over our team, was compromised.
“Chief Reynolds?” I asked, dreading the answer.
Dawson laughed.
“You think we’d tell you? Besides, it doesn’t matter now.”
The timer on the laptop ticked down to seven minutes. I needed to act.
“You’re not walking away from this, Troy,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “The evidence doesn’t disappear if I do. The task force has everything. Your laundering operations, the family fraud, all of it.”
Uncle Troy’s composure slipped slightly.
“What task force? Dawson assured me the investigation was preliminary, just getting started.”
“He lied,” I said simply. “We’ve been building a case for months. Financial records, surveillance, cooperating witnesses. Your waterfront project has been compromised from day one.”
Dawson shifted uncomfortably.
“She’s bluffing. My sources would have known.”
“Your sources aren’t as well-informed as you thought,” I pressed, seeing the doubt creeping into my uncle’s expression. “The Castigleone family is already cutting ties. They don’t appreciate the federal attention you’ve brought them.”
That struck a nerve. Uncle Troy turned to Dawson, suspicious now.
“You said they were protected, that you had everything under control.”
“I do,” Dawson insisted, but his confidence was wavering.
Through my earpiece, Matthews whispered,
“Main response team six minutes out. Fire department alerted to possible explosives.”
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