Chapter 8 - The Fall from the Sky-8
"What did you do?!" Vale shouted, his velvet voice shattering as he reached for a concealed drawer under his desk.
Before his fingers could touch the wood, the heavy reinforced glass of the penthouse balcony exploded inward in a shower of brilliant, crystalline shards.
High-velocity stun grenades burst inside the room with blinding white flashes and deafening booms.
BANG! BANG!
Through the smoke and rain pouring into the room, three tactical operators in dark gear descended from ropes deployed from a heavy transport helicopter hovering above the roof.
Leading the breach was Michael Vance.
Within three seconds, Vale’s two personal bodyguards were pinned to the floor, their weapons kicked away into the darkness.
Michael stepped through the shattered glass frame, his tactical light illuminating Vale, who was cowering behind his mahogany desk, his face pale with horror.
"Marcus Vale," Michael growled, racking the slide of his sidearm. "You're trespassing on my family's city."
"Michael?!" Vale gasped, clutching his chest. "You... you can't do this! This is federal property!"
"This is a citizen's arrest under federal RICO statutes," I corrected, stepping around the broken glass, pulling the 17th-century oil painting off the study wall to reveal the steel safe behind it.
I looked at Vale. "The code is 1-0-2-4-8-9. Your daughter's birthday."
I entered the numbers into the mechanical keypad. The heavy steel bolts retracted with a deep, satisfying CLANG.
I opened the door and pulled out the thick, red-leather master ledger containing fifteen years of bribery records, illegal offshore bank account keys, and signed extortion agreements with state politicians.
Vale stared at the red book in my hands, his breathing shallow, his aristocratic composure entirely destroyed. "Claire... please... that book destroys half the state government..."
"Good," I said, tucking the ledger safely into my coat. "It's time the government was cleaned out too."
Outside, the siren wails of twenty federal vehicles echoed up from Lake Shore Drive as FBI tactical units and state police surrounded the building entrance below.
Evelyn Hart stepped through the penthouse front doors, accompanied by the United States Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois.
The U.S. Attorney looked at the shattered room, then at the red ledger in my hands, and finally at Marcus Vale, who was being forced into steel handcuffs by Michael's team.
"Marcus Vale," the U.S. Attorney announced coldly. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a federal court of law."
As they dragged Marcus Vale past me toward the private elevator, he stopped, looking into my eyes with a mixture of terror and bitter defeat.
"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "You were just a house-wife..."
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I leaned in close, whispering into his ear so only he could hear.
"I was a forensic accountant whose family you tried to destroy," I said softly. "Never underestimate a woman who knows how to count."
