Chapter 36 - The Trap That Never Sprang
The coffee was hot. Whoever had poured it had left this room less than sixty seconds ago.
I drew my compact Glock from my waist holster, raising the beam of light toward the shadows near the back wall. "I'm here, Julian! It’s Marcus!"
A quiet chime echoed from the transponder on the drum.
I approached it warily, my boots crunching on broken plaster. Beside the flashing green light on the device lay a heavy, sealed manila folder stamped with a federal red wax crest: *CLASSIFIED - OPERATION ASHFALL.*
Underneath the folder was another handwritten card:
*Look at the file, Marcus. Then look at Richard’s prison record.*
My stomach twisted into a cold knot. I tucked my firearm into my pocket and ripped open the red wax seal.
Inside were color surveillance photographs taken through a telephoto lens. They weren't photos of our corrupt uncle Richard Vance or the syndicate we had taken down. They were photos of the state correctional facility where Richard had supposedly been locked away for the past two months.
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The photos showed Richard Vance in a tailored gray suit, climbing into a private Gulfstream jet on an unmarked tarmac just fifty miles from my estate.
The date stamped in the bottom corner of every photo was yesterday.
