Chapter 17 - The Final Stronghold
An hour later, Marcus and I were sitting in his truck, parked down the road from a secluded, heavily fortified estate nestled deep in the limestone hills of the outer Ozarks. It looked like a luxury hunting lodge, but the high chain-link fences and security cameras told a different story.
My ribs burned with every breath, but the fury inside me burned hotter.
"The local sheriff is ten minutes away with backup," Marcus whispered, checking his service weapon. "We wait for them, Jack."
"Look," I pointed toward the lodge.
Through the trees, we could see smoke rising—not from a chimney, but from a burn barrel near the back door. Shadowy figures were rushing back and forth, carrying boxes of documents and computer hard drives.
"They're destroying the evidence," I said. "If that data burns, the people who funded Tyler and Leo's suffering walk free forever. I'm not letting them walk."
Before Marcus could stop me, I slipped out of the truck. I moved through the shadows of the fence, finding a blind spot in the camera coverage that I had identified from my years of handling warehouse security. I used a pair of heavy wire cutters from Marcus's truck to snip through the chain-link.
We breached the perimeter. The air smelled of burning paper and gasoline.
As we approached the back door, a guard stepped out, holding a crate. Marcus intercepted him, tackling him into the gravel before he could draw his weapon, silencing him with a swift blow.
I kicked the back door open, my rifle raised. "Federal authorities! Nobody move!" I lied, using the authority of the impending raid to buy myself a second of shock.
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Inside, three men in suits froze. The room was lined with servers, several of them already unplugged and stacked near crates. In the center of the room sat a laptop, a progress bar on the screen indicating a data-wipe was 45% complete.
"Step away from the terminal," I ordered, my eyes locked on the man closest to the laptop.
