Chapter 6 - The Shadows of the Syndicate
The federal transport vans had barely cleared the Mercer Island perimeter when the private encrypted burner phone in Declan’s jacket vibrated with a sharp, insistent hum. He pulled it out, staring at the restricted caller ID. It was a frequency only used by the upper echelons of the Pacific Northwest syndicate—men who didn’t care about police raids or federal indictments, only about the balance of power and the security of their underground investments.
Declan pressed the receiver to his ear. “Talk.”
“You’ve caused quite a stir this morning, Walsh,” a gravelly, synthesized voice echoed through the line. It belonged to Viktor Vance, the reclusive Russian boss who controlled the shipping lanes from Tacoma to Anchorage. “Word travels fast when your wife’s little disappearing act unravels. Half the board thinks you orchestrated the whole thing to consolidate the accounts. The other half wants to know why federal marshals are currently towing your personal assets into custody.”
Declan walked back into the living room, his gaze resting on the empty entryway table where he had left his Sig Sauer. The heavy weight of his past was gone, but the vultures were already circling the carcass of his old reputation.
“Tell the board to mind their own ledgers, Viktor,” Declan replied calmly, his voice steady. “The accounts are frozen under federal corporate escrow, which means no one touches a single dime until the DOJ finishes its audit. If any member of the syndicate tries to muscle in on my holdings while the dust settles, they’ll find out very quickly that my retirement doesn't mean I've forgotten how to handle a rifle.”
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A low chuckle vibrated through the speaker. “Bold words for a man who just spent two years mourning a ghost. But be warned, Declan. When a predator steps down from the throne, the pack doesn't just watch—they tear the chair apart. Watch your back.”
The line went dead. Declan slid the burner phone into his pocket, his expression hardening. The federal arrest of Camille and Julian Aris was only the opening salvo. By sunset, every criminal syndicate from Seattle to Vancouver would realize that Declan Walsh was no longer shielding them with his wealth or his influence. He was an independent target, and the war for his empire was just beginning.
