“They will be there in less than five minutes. The team was staged about thirty miles away.”
Talon swept the scene one final time through his scope, cataloging details that would be important for the post-operation briefing. They had the shipment. They had irrefutable physical evidence of the criminal conspiracy. They had suspects in custody who would either cooperate with Burundu investigators or face decades in prison for their role in a rare earth mineral trafficking operation.
And Riley would have everything she needed to expose the people behind it all, including her father.
Talon had been in this business long enough to know that victory often came with a price that wasn't apparent until the final bills came due. Tonight's success would have far-reaching consequences, destroying lives, careers, and relationships that could never be rebuilt once the truth came to light.
That's the cost of justice,he reminded himself, watching as Burundu government investigators began arriving to process the crime scene.Sometimes the right thing isn't the easy thing.
Talon released the crime scene and watched onJug’s tablet as the first vehicles rolled through the compound gates, their red emergency lights painting the desert landscape in alternating patterns of law and order. Talon began the process of extracting his teams from their positions. The tactical phase of this operation was complete.
Now came the hardest part. And that was all on Riley’s lap.
CHAPTER 23
The boardroom lights glared across polished mahogany, while Riley’s face filled the large conference screen from halfway across the world, the Guardian secure feed streaming her image in crisp clarity. Behind her, the Burundu SRF stood like sentinels of their government’s resolve to claim jurisdiction of the illegal actions. Her posture was straight, her expression calm. God, the men with her, Talon included, had no idea how fast her heart was beating.
Talon looked at her from the other side of the camera. “You're still muted. The FBI is in the building. Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“You’ve got this. Lay it on them, babe.”
She smiled at him. He held up three fingers and counted down before pointing to her. “Good morning, members of the board,” she began, her voice level, steady. “I appreciate you making time for this briefing on such short notice.”
A dozen faces looked back at her from around the long table. These were the men and women who controlled the company’s future. She could almost guarantee that most of them had never looked twice at her ESG reports before now. Her father glared at her, but she’d been assured there was no way he could stop the feed.
She clicked the first slide on her laptop. A logistics manifest appeared on their screen, clean columns of numbers and shipping routes.
“This is the shipment log for Drum Series C-42, routed to processing in Johannesburg last night,” she said. “The manifest shows fifty sealed drums of chemical solvents, declared weight in compliance with export documentation.”
Another click. The manifest shifted to a photo of the convoy, which was taken from Guardian’s op.
“This is the actual shipment. What our investigation found was not fifty drums. It was thirty-five genuine drums of solvent. The remaining fifteen were barrels that were modified with shieldedcasings. For the most part, they were weighted and sealed to pass casual inspection.”
A ripple moved through the boardroom. Harlan Shoemaker stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’ll have to forgive my daughter. She was involved in a horrid incident a little over a year ago. She’s been acting crazy since then, citing conspiracy theories. I had no idea she’d break and make up these ludicrous lies.”
“I assure you, I am fully in control of my faculties, and I have evidence to provide,” Riley said as she watched the door to the boardroom open.
“FBI,” an agent said as he moved into the room. “I believe Ms. Shoemaker has more information to provide. Mr. Shoemaker, please sit down and be quiet.”
Her father glared at her. “I will not let this lunatic ruin my good name.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Riley said, almost choking up as she clicked again. The screen shifted to a breakdown of financial ledgers, followed by a simpler slide that showed how dates aligned with shipments.
She continued, “These diversions have been occurring intermittently for at least the past year,” she continued. “Destinations have been falsified. The yellowcake inside these barrels was primarily routedto Bolivia and Indonesia under legitimate processing contracts. In reality, those diverted drums were redirected through shell transport companies to secondary buyers outside regulatory oversight.”
Her voice stayed even, but each slide landed like a hammer. The men and women spoke all at once. She lifted her hand.Click.A global map populated with red and gold lines.
“Based on recovered manifests, falsified bills of lading, and direct physical inspection, we estimate one hundred and forty drums of yellowcake have been diverted since the start of this year.”
Click. She brought up a valuation report. “Current market value for this year and this site alone is just under eighty million U.S. dollars. That is eighty million in material that should have been declared, transported, and processed under full regulatory compliance. Instead, it was siphoned off into unauthorized channels. The price for this on the black market is exponentially more. The potential for international sanctions and loss of operating licenses is not just theoretical. It’s imminent if we fail to act.”
The next slide appeared. It was a screenshot of encrypted email traffic between senior logistics officials and an external corporate address. Her father’sname was on the CC line. She used her mouse to highlight each of the names.
“This diversion was executed with the knowledge and facilitation of senior executives of SMH, including the current CEO, Mr. Harlan Shoemaker.”
She didn’t flinch at saying her father’s name.
