“It’s over for them, Nora,” he said, his voice quiet. “You’re safe.”

For the next three hours, the conference room was a blur of ringing phones and shouting agents.

Reports came in from Chicago, then Detroit, then New York.

The syndicate’s primary financial officers were taken into custody one by one.

We watched a live feed of Elaine being led out of her clinic in handcuffs, her grey coat pulled over her head to shield her face from the cameras.

I felt a strange emptiness watching her fall.

She had tried to steal my life, my son, and now she had nothing left but a prison cell.

By midnight, the noise in the room finally began to die down.

Miller closed his laptop and rubbed his temples, looking exhausted.

“The infrastructure is completely gone,” he said, looking at us. “Without the clinics or the board members, the local operatives have no funding.”

“They won’t be coming to the cabin,” Damon said.

“No,” Miller agreed. “The threat is neutralized.”

Damon stood and offered me his hand. “Let’s go, Nora. I’ve arranged a flight back to Chicago.”