Chapter 10 - COLLATERAL DAMAGE
The aftermath was a hurricane of flashing lights, federal agents, and screaming news anchors.
When the FBI—not the compromised Miami PD, but federal agents summoned directly by Thorne’s secure line to Washington—stormed the Vance estate, they found a warzone. They also found a bruised, battered valet and a bloodied Governor sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance, clutching a USB drive that held the keys to the largest political conspiracy in modern American history.
The arrests happened simultaneously across the state. Marcus Vance was dragged out of his panic room in handcuffs, weeping in front of national television cameras. Dozens of corrupt officials, mercenary leaders, and complicit financial backers were rounded up before dawn.
Mateo sat in the sterile, brightly lit interrogation room of the FBI field office for twelve hours, recounting every detail, every second from the moment he found the C4 to the moment Thorne shot Cross. He was exhausted, sore, and craving his mother's home cooking.
Finally, the metal door opened, and Governor Thorne walked in. He looked different now. The dirt and blood had been washed away, replaced by a fresh, perfectly tailored suit. He looked every bit the presidential frontrunner again.
"It's over, Mateo," Thorne said, taking a seat across from him. "The drive was authentic. Vance’s entire network is dismantling as we speak. Cross’s offshore accounts have been frozen. The conspiracy is dead."
"And me?" Mateo asked, his voice rough. "Am I under arrest for stealing a Ferrari? Or breaking and entering?"
Thorne laughed, a genuine, booming sound. "Son, the owner of that Ferrari is one of Vance's primary shell-company operators. The FBI just seized the car as evidence. As for the rest, you are officially a key witness under federal protection, immune from any prosecution."
Mateo let out a breath he felt like he had been holding for two days. He slumped back in the metal chair, the adrenaline finally leaving his system completely. "I just want to go home."
"You can," Thorne said gently. "Your family has been secured. The press doesn't know your identity yet, and we can keep it that way if you choose." Thorne leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the table. "But I have a proposition for you first."
Mateo eyed the Governor warily. "I'm done running, Governor."
"No more running," Thorne promised. "Tomorrow morning, I am announcing my candidacy for the Presidency of the United States. And when I do, I will need a new security detail. A team composed of people whose loyalty cannot be bought. People who can think on their feet, drive like absolute maniacs, and have the courage to hand a dead man a valet ticket to save his life."
Mateo stared at him, stunned. "You want me on your security detail? I'm twenty-two. I park cars."
"You were twenty-two and parking cars," Thorne corrected. "Today, you're the man who saved the next President. My people can fast-track you through federal tactical training. You have the raw instinct, Mateo. The rest can be taught. It comes with a six-figure salary, full benefits, and the knowledge that you are protecting the free world."
Thorne stood up and offered his hand. "The choice is yours, kid. Go back to the silver platters and tips, or step into the arena."
May you like
Mateo looked at the politician’s hand. He thought about his mother in Little Havana, working double shifts to pay rent. He thought about the terror of the last forty-eight hours, and the strange, empowering thrill of surviving it.
He reached out and shook the Governor's hand firmly. "When do I start?"
