Chapter 8 - THE TRAP
"Thirty million, Ryan?" I asked, ensuring the wire picked up every syllable.
"Yes! Through the shell companies in the Caymans. It’s all on that drive. Hand it over!" He reached into his coat, his eyes wild.
"I don't have it," I said softly.
Ryan froze. "What?"
"I don't have it, Ryan. The FBI does."
His face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He lunged at me, his hands reaching for my throat. "You ruined me!"
Before his fingers could even brush my coat, the park erupted. The joggers sprinted forward, drawing weapons. The dog walker tackled Ryan from the side, slamming him into the concrete.
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"FBI! Don't move! Hands behind your back!"
I stood up slowly, looking down at the man who had terrorized me for years. He was pinned to the ground, screaming curses, looking utterly pathetic. The illusion of his power was completely broken.
