Sparking blue light flared from the keyboard as the lithium battery punctured.

“Federal agents!” a voice boomed through the open security door.

Flashlight beams pierced the darkness, cutting through the red fog.

“Hands where I can see them!”

It was Special Agent Harris, leading the tactical entry team.

Four agents in black tactical gear and helmets flooded the space, their rifles raised.

Grant didn’t stop.

He dropped the wrench and began clawing at the shattered plastic of the laptop, trying to tear the solid-state drive from the motherboard.

“Step away from the table!” Harris shouted, advancing on Grant.

“It’s mine!” Grant screamed, his fingers bleeding as he tore at the sharp metal edges. “The money is mine!”

An agent stepped in, grabbed Grant’s collar, and slammed him face-first onto the wooden table.

The wrench fell to the floor with a heavy clang.

Grant struggled, kicking his legs, but two more agents converged on him, pinning his limbs.

“Secure the suspect,” Harris ordered.

I heard the sharp, ratcheting sound of plastic zip-ties locking around Grant’s wrists.

Vanessa was groaning beneath my knee, her face pale in the strobe light.