"Teams in place," I reported to the room at large."How much longer?"
"Almost there," Socket muttered, sweat beading on his forehead despite the room's aggressive air conditioning."Just need to—"
The screens flickered simultaneously, then stabilized with new data flooding across them.Socket sat back, a grim smile spreading across his face."We're in.All of it.Every dirty secret the Weathers family has been hiding for the last thirty years."
I moved closer, my eyes scanning the documents now populating the screens faster than anyone could read them.Bank statements showing millions flowing to offshore accounts.Emails between Richard Weathers and various judges, including Harrington, discussing "favorable outcomes" in exchange for "consulting fees."Psychological evaluations of Ophelia, clearly falsified, with metadata showing they'd been created and backdated just weeks ago.
And there—on the largest monitor—security camera footage from Richard Weathers' home office.The timestamp showed it was from three days after they'd taken Dante.Weathers sat behind his massive desk, speaking on the phone.
"The situation with my daughter needs to be permanently resolved," his voice rang clear through the room's speakers."Once we have full custody of the boy, she becomes...unnecessary.Arrange it.Make it look like an accident or an overdose.Something consistent with the instability we've documented."
The cold calculation in his voice as he ordered his daughter's murder sent a wave of rage through me that I carefully channeled into focus.This wasn't the time for emotion.It was time for execution.
"That's it," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous register even my brothers rarely heard."That's our smoking gun."I pulled out my second burner phone—the one reserved for our federal contact—and dialed.
Agent Harrison answered on the first ring."Tell me you've got something concrete."
"We have everything," I replied, watching as Socket began compiling the most damning evidence into digestible packages for media outlets."Full financial records of judicial bribes.Falsified evidence.And recorded conspiracy to commit murder.Your teams in position?"
"Ready on your signal," Harrison confirmed."Once this goes public, there's no going back.You understand that?"
"That's the point."I glanced again at the footage of Weathers calmly ordering his daughter killed."It's time.Everything goes live in three minutes."
I disconnected the call and nodded to Socket."Send it all.Every server, every journalist on our list, every federal office simultaneously."
Socket's fingers flew across his keyboard one final time."Initiating full disclosure protocol in three...two...one..."
The room erupted in controlled chaos as screens began flickering with confirmation messages.Databases uploading.Media servers receiving files.Federal evidence portals accepting documented crimes.Thirty years of corruption, bribery, and manipulation exposed in the span of heartbeats.
"Judge Harrington's financials are live," Wizard announced, pointing to one screen where a financial news ticker had already picked up the story."Fox Business just interrupted programming."
"Local police bands going crazy," Socket added, monitoring another screen."Dispatch confirming multiple units responding to both target locations."
I watched it all unfold with the cold satisfaction of a man seeing long calculations finally resolve.The Weathers had built their empire on money and fear, believing themselves untouchable.They'd used that power to tear apart families—including mine—without consequence.Now they would learn what happened when you targeted someone who calculated risks for a living, someone with nothing left to lose.
"It's done," I said quietly, more to myself than the others."They're finished."
On the security feed, lights began coming on in the Weathers mansion as the first police cruisers pulled through the gates.I thought of Ophelia watching the same feed from our safehouse, of Dante finally sleeping through the night without nightmares, of the family we were building from the wreckage these people had tried to create.
For the first time in days, I allowed myself the smallest smile.Not of happiness—that would come later, when I held them both again—but of savage satisfaction.The calculator in me had run the numbers, plotted the variables, and executed with precision.And now, Richard and Elizabeth Weathers would face the one thing their money couldn't buy their way out of: the truth.
Ophelia
I couldn't stop pacing, my sock-covered feet wearing an invisible path into the threadbare carpet of our latest safehouse.The blue glow from multiple surveillance monitors cast strange shadows across the room, making familiar objects seem alien and threatening.My eyes never left the center screen, where the manicured grounds of my parents' estate—my childhood prison—filled the display.Three unmarked SUVs had just pulled up to the security gate, followed by two police cruisers with lights flashing but sirens silent.My heart hammered against my ribs so violently I felt light-headed.After a lifetime of watching my parents manipulate the system, buy their way out of consequences, and crush anyone who opposed them, was justice finally arriving at their doorstep?
A floorboard creaked in the hallway beyond the living room, and I tensed until Torque's familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway.
"Kid's still asleep," he said, his voice kept deliberately low."Little man's got his dinosaur clutched so tight I couldn't pry it loose if I wanted to."
I nodded, grateful for Torque's steady presence.He'd been guarding Dante since we'd arrived at this safehouse, refusing to be relieved even when Razor had ordered him to rest.The bond between the club brothers still amazed me—how they'd close ranks around a family under threat, regardless of personal cost.
"Thank you," I whispered, then turned back to the screens as movement caught my eye.
The estate's massive iron gates were swinging open, the guards who normally challenged every visitor conspicuously absent.The caravan of law enforcement vehicles rolled through, moving with deliberate slowness up the long, curved driveway that I'd walked thousands of times during my carefully controlled childhood.Each vehicle stopped at precise intervals, positioning themselves strategically around the circular drive in front of the main entrance.
My hands started trembling as men and women in tactical gear emerged from the vehicles.Some wore the distinctive FBI windbreakers, others the uniforms of local police.They moved with practiced efficiency, taking positions around the property's perimeter.Two officers carried what looked like a battering ram toward the front door.
"They're really doing it," I murmured, more to myself than to Torque."They're really going in."
