He squinted at the screen, his face pale in the blue light.

“Agricultural equipment,” he read. “Tractors, irrigation valves.”

“I bypassed the secondary layer,” I said, clicking a sub-folder. “Look at the actual cargo weight and the crate dimensions. These aren’t tractors. They are military-grade weapons, explosives, and shoulder-launched missiles.”

“A black-market shipment,” Vincenzo said, his brow furrowing. “Tony is running the cargo himself.”

“He isn’t just running it,” I said, pointing to the bottom of the clearance form. “Look at the authorized buyer.”

Vincenzo stared at the name of the dummy corporation.

“Vanguard Logistics,” he said. “Who are they?”

“That is a proprietary front company,” I said, my blood running cold. “It belongs to my own FBI task force. The authorization signature at the bottom belongs to my field director, Arthur Vance.”

Vincenzo turned his head to look at me, his old eyes wide with a sudden, dark understanding.

“A frame,” he said.

“A perfect one,” I replied. “Tony is shipping millions of dollars of contraband under my agency’s credentials. When this boat clears the harbor, the paperwork will auto-file with international customs. My entire team will be arrested for global arms smuggling.”