Sarah grabbed Griff's arm hard enough to hurt. "That's David. My ex-boyfriend David.”
Griff's protective instincts roared to life. "The one who said you were too intense?"
Sarah nodded, looking devastated. "This is new. I had no idea he was back in DC.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “This is just Buckley’s way of adding to the torture.”
She shook her head. “It’s worse than that. David has my old federal authorization codes. From when we worked together. He's not just framing Knight Tactical—he's using my financial signature to do it."
"Personal and professional betrayal wrapped in one," Doc observed, her voice sharp as glass. "But that's also his weakness. Emotional decisions create patterns. He's showing you exactly how to destroy him."
Through the earbuds, Maya's voice: "Target is at the terminal. Inputting something now."
Sarah checked her screens. "Another transaction just hit. Fifty thousand from a Romanian account." Her voice cracked. "That's my old routing sequence. If anyone investigates this, it'll trace back to me."
Her hand went to her throat, fingers closing around Tank's dog tags hidden beneath her shirt. The gesture seemed to steady her.
"Can you prove it's him?"
"I'm documenting everything. But Griff..." She met his eyes. "He knew I'd recognize his work. This is personal. He wants me to know it was him."
Doc squeezed Sarah's shoulder. "Then he gave you ammunition. Use his ego against him. Men who need you to know they're hurting you always leave breadcrumbs."
"Maya," Griff said into comms, his voice deadly calm. "Eyes on target. Do not engage, but don't lose him."
"Copy that. He seems nervous. Keeps checking his phone."
Sarah's laptop chimed. Another transaction. Then another. Each one using her old protocols, her digital signature.
"Lord, please help me see what I need to see," Sarah whispered, then dove back into her screens with renewed focus. "He's using a pattern. Every three minutes. If I can predict the next one..."
"Got it!" She highlighted a different terminal. "The next transaction will hit in forty seconds from Terminal 2A, near the Georgian Room."
"Izzy, Terminal 2A, Georgian Room level, intercept," Griff commanded.
"On it. Taking the service stairs now."
Doc was already pulling up alternative routes on her tablet. "Federal marshals entered the hotel's main lobby. They're not being subtle—they want everyone to know they're there."
Sarah's hands trembled as she worked. "I worked with him for two years. Trusted him with—" She stopped, jaw tightening. "He's using our old departmental codes. The ones we created together."
"Ghost," Maya's voice. "Target's moving. Heading toward the main ballroom."
Sarah looked at Griff, hurt transforming into determination. "We can't stop what's already gone through. But I can document everything. Create a trail showing the real source."
"Do it."
She turned back to her screens, fingers flying. Griff kept one hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension there.
Through his earbuds: "All units, we have federal marshals converging on the Meeting Street entrance."
Doc checked multiple feeds on her tablet. "They're sealing exits. Standard federal containment protocol. But they'redoing it wrong—they're treating this like a criminal capture, not a terrorist threat. That means they don't really believe the intel they've been fed. Someone's forcing their hand."
Sarah's laptop showed the final piece clicking into place. "The frame's complete. Knight Tactical now appears to have received 1.5 million from known terrorist cells." She looked at Griff. "And my authorization codes are on every transaction."
Maya's urgent voice. "Pemberton’s meeting Buckley in the lobby. They're heading toward the private elevator to the penthouse conference room."
Doc's expression turned predatory. "That's where the real activation will happen. Above the chaos, isolated, with dedicated communication lines."
