Chapter 6 - The Trap at Montauk
For seventy-two hours, I didn't sleep.
I built a financial counter-offensive that was nothing short of poetry.
Using my access to Roman’s master nodes, I systematically traced Victor Vance’s illegal offshore accounts in Panama, linking them directly to the Iron Syndicate’s human trafficking and weapons smuggling operations. I forged digital paper trails that made it appear as though Vance’s own deputies were turning state's evidence against him.
At the same time, I restructured Roman’s legal assets, shifting ninety percent of his liquidity into untouchable municipal bonds under a blind trust—effectively starving the Iron Syndicate of the money they needed to pay their mercenary army.
By Thursday night, the stage was set.
The Iron Syndicate, believing Roman was defenseless and cornered, launched their assault on the Montauk shipping depot.
What they didn't know was that Roman, Grant, and forty heavily armed men were already waiting inside the storm-swept warehouse.
I sat in the secure communications trailer parked two miles away on the bluffs, wearing a headset, monitoring the satellite feeds and financial transfers in real time.
"Evelyn," Roman’s voice came through the comms line, crisp and steady over the sound of wind and rain. "Vance’s men just crossed the perimeter."
"Wait until the digital transfer clears, Roman," I said, my fingers flying across my keyboard. "Vance is trying to wire five million from your Montauk account right now. The moment he hits 'enter,' his entire system will freeze, and the evidence will auto-send to the Inspector General’s office in Washington."
"Copy that," Roman replied.
A minute passed. The tension in the trailer was agonizing.
Beep.
"Transfer initiated," I called out into the mic. "Freeze executed! Washington has the files! Do it now, Roman!"
Through the satellite monitor, I saw the floodlights around the Montauk depot erupt in blinding white light!
Automatic gunfire rattled through the comms line—a short, intense clash that lasted less than four minutes. Roman’s men, completely forewarned and forearmed by my data, overwhelmed the Syndicate forces before they could even draw their heavy weapons.
Victor Vance was arrested at his desk in Manhattan ten minutes later by federal marshals.
The Iron Syndicate was completely destroyed.
I leaned back in my chair in the trailer, letting out a long, shuddering breath. It was over. Roman’s empire was secure. Northstar Atlantic was clean. The war that had consumed New York for seven months had ended in a single night.
The door of the communications trailer swung open.
Roman stepped inside. His coat was damp with rain, a streak of soot across his cheekbone, but his eyes were bright, fierce, and entirely fixed on me.
He walked past the technicians, past the computer banks, until he stood right in front of my chair.
"It's done," he said softly.
"I know," I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're safe. Your empire is safe."
Roman looked at me for a long moment. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick Manila envelope, and laid it gently in my lap.
"What is this?" I asked.
"A new passport," Roman said, his voice raw and heavy with emotion. "A clean bank account with five million dollars. A deed to a house of your choice anywhere in the world."
May you like
He stepped back, crossing his hands behind his back, looking at me with an expression of pure, unadulterated pain.
"I promised you your freedom, Evelyn," Roman whispered. "The car is outside. Grant will take you wherever you want to go. You are free."
