“And the biometric authorization to transfer the Sterling Trust directly to my offshore holding accounts. Or your fiercely loyal friend loses her head.” I stepped forward into the harsh glare of the halogen lights.
I didn’t tremble. I didn’t beg. “Let her go, Hector,” I said, my voice eerily steady, ringing out in the quiet yard.
“You’ve lost Fiona. The cartel money you laundered through Vance Global is frozen by the feds. Your shell companies are exposed. You have absolutely nothing left to bargain with.”
“I will have your billions,” he smiled coldly, his eyes dead and reptilian. “And with that kind of capital, the world forgives many sins. Open the case, little girl.” I knelt slowly in the damp dirt. The cold seeped through my trousers.
I laid the silver briefcase flat and popped the latches. Inside was a sleek, reinforced laptop. I booted it up, and the transfer screen for the Sterling Trust illuminated my face in a pale, blue glow. “I have to use my thumbprint to authorize the transfer to the routing number you provide,” I said, ensuring my voice shook just a fraction, a calculated performance of terror.
“If I do this… you disable the collar. You let her walk away.”
“You have my word as a gentleman,” Hector mocked, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. He tossed a crumpled slip of paper onto the mud near my knees. It contained a routing number for a Cayman Islands account. I typed it in. The screen flashed a bright, angry red, bringing up a pulsing fingerprint icon. Awaiting Biometric Verification. I looked up at Phoebe. Her jaw was set, her eyes wide but defiant. She gave me the slightest, almost imperceptible nod. This is the precipice, I thought. Eighteen years of lies, a murdered father, a slaughtered future—it all ends on this fingerprint. I pressed my right thumb against the glowing green scanner. The screen froze for a agonizing second.
Then, it flashed a brilliant green: TRANSFER INITIATED. ENCRYPTED PACKETS DEPLOYED.
Hector laughed, a dry, rasping sound of total victory. He dramatically pressed the button on his remote. The metallic collar around Phoebe’s neck beeped twice, the red light turning solid green. The magnetic lock disengaged with a loud clack, and the collar fell harmlessly into the mud. Marcus materialized from the shadows behind a rusted container, sprinting forward to drag Phoebe out of the floodlights and into the safety of the darkness.
“You’re a smart girl, Mabel,” Hector said, turning his back on me to walk toward a waiting black SUV idling in the distance. “Enjoy whatever is left of your miserable, paranoid life.” “Hector,” I called out. I didn’t move from my spot in the dirt. I just watched his back. He stopped, turning his head slightly, irritated by the delay.
