The port docks, the concrete plants, the offshore shell accounts—they were all changing hands.

Julian’s people were moving fast, capitalizing on the panic.

While the feds focused on the physical offices, the Maronis were draining the secondary accounts.

They were seizing the physical assets that Arthur had spent thirty years building.

It was a coordinated feast, and Arthur was the carcass.

Arthur stared at me as they lifted him onto a orange plastic gurney.

His face was pale, his lips blue from the cold rain blowing through the open door.

“You sold me out,” he croaked, his voice cracking.

“I didn’t sell you out, Arthur,” I said quietly. “I just resigned.”

He closed his eyes as they wheeled him out into the storm.

Julian was led out next, still arguing with the agent holding his arm.

“We have a deal, Hughes,” Julian called back over his shoulder. “Don’t forget it.”

The door slammed shut behind them, leaving only the agent in the trench coat and me in the room.

He looked at me, his eyes searching my face.

“Your immunity deal hinges on the testimony, Clara,” he said.