28
SILAS
Two weeks. That's how long it takes to dismantle a monster's empire from the inside out.
“Morrison's already started cleaning house,” Teddy says, spreading FBI surveillance photos across the meeting trailer's table. “She fired three staff members yesterday, all with connections to shell companies we flagged.”
I lean back in my chair, satisfaction curling in my chest. Dr. Rebecca Morrison turned out to be everything we hoped for and more. A Sanctum survivor who clawed her way to a doctorate in child psychology, she'd been working legitimate foundations for years, waiting for a chance to make real change. When Teddy approached her through official FBI channels, she didn't just agree to help—she volunteered to burn Malachi's operation down from within.
“The beauty of it,” Elias says, “is that Malachi can't touch her without exposing himself. She's too credentialed, too visible.”
“Too clean,” Cole adds with a grin. “Unlike the rest of us degenerates.”
Logan snorts. “Speak for yourself.”
“He is,” Rowe shoots back. “We all saw what you did to that Prophet in Dallas.”
“Boys,” Marek interrupts, tapping his tarot deck against the table. “Focus. The cards have been restless all morning.”
I glance at our fortune teller, noting the tension in his shoulders. Marek's instincts have kept us alive more than once. “What kind of restless?”
“Change coming. Upheaval.” He sets down the deck without shuffling. “Something we haven't planned for.”
Teddy frowns, his federal agent instincts kicking in. “Morrison said Malachi's been increasingly erratic. Calling emergency board meetings, checking on kids personally instead of delegating. Maybe he knows something's wrong.”
“Good,” Jonah rumbles. “Let him sweat.”
“The foundation's secure,” I say, bringing us back on track. “Morrison's in position, the legitimate programs will survive, and we've exposed enough of Malachi's financial crimes that he's under investigation by three different agencies.”
“Which means,” Elias says with dark satisfaction, “it's time for the personal touch.”
We've been planning this moment for sixteen years. The kidnapping. The reckoning. Making Malachi pay for every child he broke, every life he destroyed.
“Location?” I ask.
“His house,” Teddy says, pulling up floor plans on his laptop. “Bethany's visiting her sister in Kansas City this week. Cancer treatment's on Tuesdays and Fridays. He'll be weak Thursday morning.”
“Perfect.” Elias stands, pacing the small space. “We take him Thursday. Three days to prepare.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Nova:
Getting cotton candy with Jules. Back soon. Love you.
The corners of my mouth lift. She's been lighter these past two weeks, more relaxed. Having another woman around helps—Jules and Nova have developed an easy friendship, full of sarcastic commentary and shared eye rolls at our dramatic planning sessions.
“Torture methods?” Cole asks, because subtlety isn't his strong suit.
“We make him feel everything he made us feel,” I say. “Fear. Helplessness. The knowledge that no one's coming to save him.”
“The children's room,” Marek says quietly. “We recreate it.”
Silence falls. The children's room was where Malachi took us for private sessions. Where he broke us down piece by piece before building us back up in his image.
“Yes,” Elias says finally. “He'll understand then. What it was like.”
Teddy shifts uncomfortably. Even after everything we've shared, some details of our past still shock him. “How long do we?—”
A crash from outside cuts him off. Shouting. A woman's scream.
