Chapter 7 - A Trap in Monaco
The warehouse doors blew open with deafening force.
"Federal agents! Drop your weapon! Hands where we can see them!"
Dozens of tactical officers flooded the warehouse, red laser sights converging on Adrian’s chest and the two hired mercenaries. The mercenaries instantly raised their hands, dropping their weapons to the floor without hesitation.
"Drop the gun, Adrian!" Gabriel’s voice boomed through the warehouse. He strode through the entrance flanked by federal marshals, looking like an angel of retribution in his long wool coat.
Adrian’s eyes darted frantically around the room. He was trapped. The laser dots danced across his forehead and chest. With a strangled sob of defeat, his revolver clattered onto the concrete floor.
Vanessa dropped to her knees, weeping hysterically as agents swiftly moved in with zip-ties, pinning Adrian against the rusted desk.
"You set me up!" Adrian spat, blood trickling from his lip where an agent had subdued him. "You set me up again, Clara!"
I walked over to the desk, stepped over his discarded firearm, and picked up my father's leather-bound ledger. I dusted off the cover, looking down at the man who had tried to steal my life.
"You set yourself up the moment you confused my patience for weakness, Adrian," I said coldly. "Take them away."
As the agents dragged Adrian and Vanessa out into the rain, Gabriel approached me. His hand gently caught my elbow, his breath steadying as he looked down at me. "Are you alright?"
"I have the ledger," I said, offering him a faint, victorious smile. "And his confession was transmitted directly to the U.S. Attorney’s office."
"Then we’re done here," Gabriel said softly, his thumb lightly brushing the back of my hand. "Except for one thing."
"Arthur Sterling."
"He didn't stay in New York," Gabriel revealed, pulling out his phone. "The moment his son was cornered, Arthur boarded his private jet. Flight logs confirm he just landed in Monaco. He’s liquidating the Sterling European reserve funds—over three billion euros—through the offshore vaults in Monte Carlo before the international freeze orders take effect."
"If he gets that capital out, he can wage a proxy war against us for the next decade," I said, the fire rekindling behind my eyes.
"Then we don't let him leave Monte Carlo," Gabriel replied, a thrilling challenge gleaming in his dark gaze. "My private jet is fueled and waiting at JFK. We fly to the Riviera tonight."
May you like
"Pack your finest tuxedo, Gabriel," I murmured, turning toward the rainy night. "We have a casino to conquer."
***