Mr. E, she said softly. Are the bad people gonna come again? Ethan crouched beside her. They might try, he admitted.
But we’re ready this time, she nodded seriously, as though preparing for battle. Then I’ll pray double. That night, the group gathered around Ellis’s laptop as he played an intercepted audio file.
The voice was smooth, male, professional. Walker’s testimony’s becoming a problem. If he keeps digging, he’ll reach the committee chair’s offshore fund.
Handle it, quietly. Jennifer looked up sharply. Where did you get this? Source in Treasury, Ellis replied.
They’re scared. But they want this to come out, Klein exhaled. So it’s confirmed.
This goes straight to Capitol Hill, Ethan leaned forward. We leak it. Tonight, Ellis shook his head.
Too soon. If we release it without full context, they’ll claim it’s fabricated. We need documentation, contracts, transactions, internal memos.
That’ll take another few days, Jennifer frowned. Days we might not have. As if on cue, a distant rumble rolled through the night thunder at first, then a sharp, percussive crack that made the windows tremble.
Everyone froze, Klein was up instantly, gun drawn, moving toward the front door. That wasn’t thunder. Another crack followed, this one closer, glass shattered in the kitchen.
Loretta screamed, dragging Anna under the table. Sniper, Klein shouted. Down.
Ethan pulled Jennifer behind the couch as a bullet punched through the wall above them, splintering wood. Back exit, Ellis barked. Go.
They crawled low, moving through the hallway as another shot ripped through the window. The lights flickered out the power line had been hit, outside, rain fell in cold sheets. Ethan kicked open the rear door, hard hammering.
They bolted for the truck parked near the tree line. Klein covered them, firing two rounds toward the flashes from the woods. Move, he yelled.
They piled into the truck. Ethan started the engine, flooring it down the muddy track. The headlights cut through rain and darkness, but behind them, two black SUVs emerged, closing fast.
Jennifer gripped the dashboard. They were waiting for us. Klein checked his clip.
Drive straight. I’ll handle the rest. Ugh.
He leaned out the passenger window and fired. One SUV swerved, clipped a tree, and spun off into the ditch. The second stayed close.
A figure leaned from the passenger side, Pierce. His face was pale, scarred, alive when he should have been dead. Ethan’s jaw tightened.
That’s impossible. Jennifer turned. I thought he… He didn’t, Klein growled.
The SUV pulled up beside them. Pierce aimed a pistol and fired. The bullet shattered Ethan’s side mirror.
Ethan jerked the wheel, slamming the truck into the SUV’s flank. Metal screamed. Both vehicles skidded on the wet road.
Klein reached out the window, grabbed the side mirror of the SUV, and fired point-blank into the tire. The SUV fishtailed, slammed into a guardrail, and vanished down an embankment in a shower of sparks. The truck screeched to a halt at a service road near the highway.
Everyone sat frozen, panting. Rain dripped through a crack in the windshield. Loretta clutched Anna, whispering prayers.
Jennifer’s hands shook as she reloaded the spare magazine. Ellis was the first to speak. We can’t go back there.
They’ll torch the place. Klein nodded. We head east.
I know a friend near Baltimore X. Marine. Off-grid. Safe.
Ethan stared out at the road ahead. Pierce should’ve been dead. Ellis leaned forward.
Then someone wanted him alive. Which means Greg wasn’t the top of the chain. Jennifer looked at Ethan.
They’re not just cleaning up evidence, they’re cleaning up witnesses. Ethan tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Then we stop running.
We turn this into a spotlight so bright. They can’t kill what the whole world’s watching. The truck rolled into the night, past the invisible line between survival and defiance.
The rain softened, turning to mist as dawn hinted at the horizon. When they reached the Marines’ compound hours later, the sky was pale and bruised. A heavyset man in a raincoat stepped out of a warehouse and waved them in.
Klein. You look like hell. Good to see you too, Reddick, Klein said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Reddick looked at the others, heard the chatter on the dark web. Somebody’s hunting you hard. They found us, Jennifer said flatly.
Reddick whistled. Then you’re lucky you’re breathing. Get inside.
We’ll talk once the kids settled. Anna clung to Ethan’s sleeve as they entered the building, a converted workshop lined with tools, ammo crates, and humming generators. Reddick poured coffee for the adults and hot cocoa for Anna.
Safe here for now, he said. But safe’s temporary when you’re dealing with men who buy laws for breakfast, Ellis spread out his notes on the table. We keep digging.
We trace the shell companies, find the names above the names. Jennifer glanced toward Ethan. And what about the people they already own? Ethan’s eyes were steady.
We find the one thing they can’t buy. Conscience. Outside, the wind picked up again, bending the trees.
Somewhere in the distance, a single gunshot echoed a reminder that they were still being hunted. But inside the warehouse, for a brief moment, there was a fragile sense of unity. They were tired, bloodied, and running on faith, but the truth was finally too loud to silence.
And as Ethan lay awake later, Anna asleep on the cot beside him, he whispered to the dark. You wanted a war, Greg. Now you’ve got one.
The warehouse became their war room. Maps of Washington, Delaware, and offshore tax havens covered the walls. Every table was stacked with laptops, files, and half-drunk cups of coffee.
The hum of generators filled the silence between tense conversations. Outside, the sky hung heavy and gray, promising another storm. Ethan stood before a whiteboard covered in names and red strings.
We have one goal, he said. His voice steady, but sharp, expose the structure before they erase it. Every account, every intermediary, every politician who touched Greg’s network.
Ellis nodded, arms crossed. We’ll feed the information in stages. Leak a piece here, a memo there….
