Chapter 6 - The Digital Trap
The sun rose over Lake Michigan, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and violet, but inside the seventy-fifth-floor penthouse, the curtains remained drawn, blocking out the morning light.
Leah sat at a sleek glass dining table that had been converted into an impromptu command center. Three monitors glowed with lines of code, financial algorithms, and encrypted bank routing numbers.
Gabriel stood behind her, a fresh cup of black coffee in his hand, watching her fingers fly across the mechanical keyboard with blistering speed.
"You're certain this will work?" Gabriel asked, his voice low.
"Positive," Leah said, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Vance’s primary financial conduit isn't actually in Switzerland. It's a shell corporation registered right here in Delaware, funneled through a real estate front on the South Side. If we initiate a reverse-trace protocol through Mercer Holdings' primary server, we can lock his entire liquidity portfolio within forty-eight hours."
Gabriel set his coffee down and leaned over her shoulder, his face inches from hers. "And if he traces the ping back to us?"
"He won't," Leah smiled, a flash of fierce, brilliant confidence lighting up her features. "Because I'm routing the signal through three dozen of his own corrupt subsidiary accounts. To his cyber-security team, it will look like an internal server crash caused by his own embezzlement schemes."
Gabriel stared at her profile, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face.
"You're terrifying, Bennett," he murmured.
"You only noticed just now?" she shot back without missing a beat.
Before Gabriel could reply, the secure comms panel on the wall beeped sharply. Marcus’s voice echoed through the speaker.
"Boss. We have a problem."
Gabriel’s expression hardened instantly. He pressed the intercom button. "Talk."
"The captive we took from the apartment—we broke him. He didn't just give us a name. Vance has mobilized his entire tactical unit. They've surrounded the Northside Diner."
Leah’s blood ran cold.
"The diner?" she gasped, spinning around in her chair. "Mr. Henderson and Mrs. Gable—they open at six every morning! They don't know anything about the money!"
Gabriel stood up straight, his eyes turning to absolute flint.
"Marcus," Gabriel commanded, his voice slicing through the speaker like a razor. "Mobilize the cleanup teams. All units. Full tactical gear. We're burning Vance's operations to the ground today."
He looked down at Leah, who was already grabbing her coat.
"You're staying here," Gabriel ordered.
"Like hell I am," Leah snapped, slipping her arms into the sleeves of his oversized overcoat. "Those are my people down there. I started this; I finish it."
Gabriel didn't argue. He knew that look in her eyes—it was the exact same look he saw in the mirror every morning.
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"Fine," Gabriel said, pulling a heavy, matte-black Sig Sauer pistol from his desk drawer and handing it to her handle-first. "Stay behind me. If anyone moves, you shoot."
***
