Chapter 9 - The War Room
I wasn't going to fight a corrupt millionaire and a bought-and-paid-for local police force by myself. I went back inside, locked the doors, and pulled out my encrypted laptop. I made a secure call to Marcus Vance, my former commanding officer and a current operative for the Department of Defense's joint task force on domestic organized crime. Marcus and I had served three tours together; he trusted me with his life, and I trusted him with mine. Within two hours, Marcus had pulled Sterling’s entire file. The man wasn't just a sleazy real estate developer; he was a key player in laundering cartel money through local construction projects.
"Evelyn, this guy is way out of your weight class," Marcus warned through the computer speakers, his voice tight with concern. "He's got judges, cops, and local politicians in his pocket. If you push him, he won't just send arsonists next time. He'll send shooters."
"He already tried to burn down Grandpa's barn, Marcus," I replied, staring at the map of my property spread across the kitchen table. "I'm not running. I want him dismantled. Every asset, every bank account, every corrupt cop on his payroll. I want to rip his empire apart."
Marcus sighed, the familiar sound of a commander realizing his soldier was going off the reservation, but knowing she was right. "Alright, Carter. We do this by the book. The FBI has been trying to build a RICO case against Sterling for two years, but they lack direct, recorded evidence of his extortion racket. If you can get him on tape admitting to the arson, the illegal gambling ring, and the extortion of your father, we can authorize a federal raid. But you have to wear a wire, and you have to get him to monologue. Can you play the terrified victim?"
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I looked at my reflection in the dark screen of my phone, tracing the faint scar on my jawline. "I can play whatever role I need to. Set it up."
The plan was highly volatile. I called Sterling’s private office line, adopting a shaking, defeated tone. I told his secretary I was terrified, that my mother had told me everything, and that I was willing to sign over the deed to the farm in exchange for my father's life. Sterling, drunk on his own perceived power, eagerly agreed to a private meeting at his downtown office building at 8:00 PM that night. No lawyers. Just him, me, and the deed.
