Chapter 7 - The Counter-Offensive
Three weeks later, the war room inside the Montana mountain facility looked like the headquarters of a military campaign.
Jonah and Blythe were recovering remarkably. The heavy metal toxins had been successfully purged from their systems, and for the first time in six months, color had returned to their cheeks. They were eating, laughing, and even managed to drag a small plastic racecar across the wooden floorboards of the safehouse lounge while Clara watched over them with a gentle, maternal smile that softened her hardened features.
Lawson stood at the head of a massive tactical table, surrounded by Prescott Hale, three elite intelligence contractors he had flown in from Zurich, and a team of cyber-warfare specialists.
“The Veritas Group thinks they’ve won,” Lawson said, pointing a laser pointer at a complex digital map projected onto the wall. “They believe Crosby Vane successfully executed the takeover of Mercer Industries while I was distracted by my children's medical crisis.”
“Vane has already filed emergency board motions in Chicago to freeze our domestic liquidity,” Prescott reported, tapping a tablet. “He’s claiming you’ve abandoned your executive duties due to personal tragedy.”
“Let him celebrate his little boardroom coup,” Lawson smiled coldly. “Clara, are the financial decryption keys ready?”
Clara stepped forward from the back of the room, plugging a secure encrypted drive into the main console. A cascading waterfall of complex financial code flooded the primary display screen.
“Decryption complete,” Clara announced. “We have direct transactional trails linking Crosby Vane’s personal offshore accounts straight to the Veritas Group’s primary slush funds in Zurich, the Cayman Islands, and Panama. Furthermore, we have the exact medical trial logs proving Vane authorized the environmental poisoning of the Mercer estate.”
“Send it to every federal prosecutor, financial regulatory body, and major investigative media outlet in North America and Europe,” Lawson commanded. “Simultaneously.”
Prescott grinned—a fierce, predatory smile. “Executing protocol now, sir.”
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“And what about Vane himself?” Prescott asked.
Lawson reached down, picking up his tactical sidearm and sliding it securely into his shoulder holster. “I’m going back to Chicago to collect him in person.”
