Chapter 20 - The Ghost in the System
Back in the private office at Lake Forest, the secure video conference dissolved into a silent grid of blinking green connection lights as the regional directors logged off, thoroughly chastised.
Adrian remained seated at the mahogany table, spinning his empty coffee cup slowly between his knuckles. He looked up at Emma, who was unpinning her suit jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair.
You handled Gallo well, Adrian wrote on his legal pad, sliding it across the wood. He thinks he's untouchable because he controls the Mississippi river freight lines. He's been skimming twenty percent off our arms shipments for six months.
Emma pulled up a chair across from him, resting her elbows on the polished surface. She didn't need to sign; her voice was calm and steady in the quiet room. "I know. Marcus flagged the shipping discrepancies right before we left for the Loop. Gallo is using an independent shell company registered in the Cayman Islands under a pseudonym—'Kestrel Logistics'."
Adrian raised an eyebrow, his pen pausing over the paper.
"Kestrel," Emma repeated, a cold smirk touching her lips. "A bird of prey that feeds on carrion. Fitting for a man waiting for you to look weak."
We don't fire him, Adrian wrote swiftly, his strokes aggressive. We let him think he’s winning until he exposes his entire secondary network. Who is his primary buyer in the city?
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"That’s the interesting part," Emma said, pulling an encrypted flash drive from her pocket and laying it flat on the table. "When we raided Vance's terminal, we pulled a decrypted communication handshake. Kestrel Logistics isn't just selling to local gangs. They're supplying the remnants of the Vanguard Syndicate—the exact group that hit our warehouse two weeks ago."
The air in the room grew noticeably colder. The mention of the Vanguard Syndicate brought back the memory of shattered glass, smoking barrels, and the blood on the floor where they now sat. Adrian stopped spinning his cup. His gaze locked onto Emma, a dangerous, razor-sharp focus returning to his eyes.
