Chapter 3 - Shattered Glass
Hector Wolfe didn't realize he was alone until he heard the faint sound of a heavy metal door clicking shut behind him.
He turned around, holding a half-empty bottle of bourbon. "Dom? Did you lock the—"
The lights in the office went out.
The room plunged into pitch-black darkness, save for the blue ambient glow of the television screen.
"Dom? Stop messing around, man," Hector growled, reaching for the flashlight on his belt.
A shadow separated itself from the corner of the room.
Before Hector could click the flashlight on, a violent kick struck his wrist, sending the flashlight flying across the room and shattering against the wall. A second strike—a devastating palm heel to his sternum—knocked the wind out of his lungs, sending him staggering back against his father’s oak desk.
Hector gasped for air, wildly swinging the bourbon bottle through the dark.
I ducked beneath the arc of the glass, stepped inside his guard, and drove a double-knee strike straight into his liver.
Hector let out a strangled, pathetic groan, collapsing to his knees. The liver strike—a blow well-known in combat sports for shutting down the nervous system—left him paralyzed with blinding agony, clutching his side as cold sweat burst from his pores.
I clicked on a small tactical penlight, directing the beam straight into Hector’s wide, terrified eyes.
"The safe," I said calmly. "Open it."
"Go... go to hell!" Hector choked out, blood dripping from his lip. "My dad will murder you! He's got the police chief, the mayor, everyone!"
I reached out, grabbed Hector by his hair, and pulled his face inches from mine. "Your brother Mason already gave me the combination to the outer lock. I just need your thumbprint for the biometric scanner. You can give it to me attached to your hand, or I can take the thumb with me. Choice is yours."
I drew my combat knife, letting the cold steel rest gently against his left thumb.
Hector’s bravado shattered in an instant. "Okay! Okay! Don't cut me! I'll open it!"
Dragging his paralyzed body up to the framed painting of the Wolfe family business, Hector pulled the frame aside, exposing the heavy steel wall safe beneath. He pressed his trembling thumb against the scanner.
BIOMETRIC VERIFIED. ACCESS GRANTED.
The heavy vault door clicked and swung open.
Inside lay stacks of illicit cash, unregistered handguns, encrypted flash drives, and—most importantly—a thick, leather-bound black ledger containing thirty years of extortion payments, bribery receipts, and names of corrupt city officials.
I pulled out a tactical pouch, sweeping the ledger, the flash drives, and three hard drives into my bag.
"Thank you, Hector," I said gently.
"You... you got what you want," Hector panted, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. "Now let me go!"
"I gave you a choice regarding your thumb," I replied, bringing the butt of my tactical flashlight down squarely behind his ear. "I never promised you'd stay awake."
Hector slumped to the floor, unconscious.
I pulled out my phone, dialed an unlisted number, and waited three rings.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation, Field Office," a sharp female voice answered. "Agent Vance."
"Agent Vance," I said, my voice modulated through a scramble filter. "This is a friend of the Constitution. If you send a tactical unit to 1400 Industrial Parkway right now, you will find two bound members of the Wolfe crime syndicate, a safe full of illegal firearms, and enough digital evidence to indict half the city council."
"Who is this?!" Vance demanded, the sound of rapid keyboard typing echoing over the line. "How did you get this secure line?"
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"Check the email inbox of your direct director in five minutes," I replied. "I'm sending a copy of the Wolfe ledger. Do your job, Vance. Because if the legal system fails again, I'm going to finish this my way."
I hung up, wiped my prints from the desk, and slipped out into the fog, leaving the salvage yard engulfed in the silent storm I had just unleashed.
