“Same,” I say, shaking his outstretched hand.
Reid secures the door before leading us further into the darkened space. We descend a set of stairs into a basement. When we reach the bottom, he scans his thumb, opening a heavy black door. Two massive desks dominate the space, flanked by multiple computer screens and several larger TV screens mounted on the concrete walls. There’s even a coffee area set up in the corner.
“Shit, Reid, you’ve only been here twelve hours,” Benson says, shaking his head in disbelief.
Reid grins. “I’m a resourceful man.”
“I’d say so.”
“Benson, this is Oakley Lawter. The brains behind this entire operation. He made all this happen.”
“What’s up?” he greets, standing from his chair behind the massive desk. “Nice to finally meet you, man.”
“You too. Thanks for all your help on this.”
“Anytime,” he says with an easygoing smile.
Oakley Lawter is the son of Rowdy Lawter, president of the notorious MC Brothers’ Keeper, based out of Dallas and well-known for doling out vigilante justice. They offer protection to those who need it and can afford it. Sometimes that protection is paid for with money, and other times with favors or other means.
Nothing in the underworld is free.
In the cyberworld, Lawter is a renowned hacker, better known as Cipher on the dark web. He’s revered as one of the best hackers in the world. He’s hacked into numerous security systems, including sophisticated government systems such as the Pentagon, causing millions in damage. While serving time in prison, Lawter was able to negotiate his release in exchange for working for the FBI under Reid’s command.
“This is my partner, Karmen,” Benson states proudly.
Not his girlfriend. Not his woman. Not his submissive.
His partner.
His equal.
I smile, shaking Oakley’s outstretched hand, his grip firm and respectful.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” I chuff a laugh. “You can’t be much older than me.”
“Sorry,” he shrugs with a sheepish smile. “It’s a habit.”
Well-mannered and polite, he wears black from head to foot. Tall and broad, every inch of his exposed skin is covered with tattoos except for his face, which is disarmingly handsome. His jaw is sharp, and his features are well-defined. He looks like a rogue Clark Kent, if Clark Kent were a total biker badass, with sharp baby blue eyes shielded by black-framed glasses and a deep dimple in his right cheek. His easy smile immediately puts me at ease.
He walks around the desk, standing in front of the bank ofmonitors, sleek tablet in his hand. A few swipes later, several documents populate the screen.
Reid steps forward. “Oak was able to decrypt all the files from Ashford’s jump drives.”
Benson and I share a look, and I inhale in a quiet breath, bracing myself for the worst.
“Ashford has been running this operation for years. The funds he earns from the sale of the product back to dealers are then funneled through his multiple shell companies. He’s stashing the money in several offshore accounts in the Caymans and Luxembourg, and he’s been working with a network of drug traffickers for years, using his power and influence to protect their operations.”
“Ensuring investigations are buried, and any whistleblowers are silenced,” Oakley adds.
“Exactly,” Reid confirms. “You’re not the first person he’s tried to frame. You’re just the first ever to discover his secrets.”
“But why me? Why target me?” Benson asks.
Another image pops up on the screen, and I instantly recognize the mugshot.
“Mateo Salazar, head of the La Vibora Negra Cartel,” Benson says.
