Chapter 8 - THE TRAP IS SET
The Port of Miami was a sprawling wasteland of towering shipping containers and heavy machinery. Midnight cast long, menacing shadows across the damp concrete. I walked alone down Pier 4, the ocean breeze whipping my jacket against the Kevlar vest.
A pair of headlights flipped on in the distance, blinding me momentarily. A black SUV rolled forward, coming to a halt twenty yards away. Four men stepped out. Three were heavily armed cartel muscle. The fourth was Marcus.
He was dressed in a tailored suit, looking wildly out of place amidst the rust and saltwater. He smiled—that same charming, arrogant smile he used in boardrooms back in Chicago.
“Charles! Look at you, playing the hero,” Marcus called out, walking forward while his men fanned out, their rifles at the ready.
“You tried to kill her, Marcus,” I said, ensuring my voice carried perfectly to the microphone taped to my chest. “You used Miller & Co. to wash cartel money, and when she found out, you ordered a hit on my wife.”
Marcus rolled his eyes, stopping ten feet from me. “Your ex-wife. And I didn't order the hit. Mr. Vargas here did.”
A tall, heavily scarred man stepped forward from the shadows of the SUV. Vargas. The enforcer.
“She was a loose end,” Vargas said, his voice like grinding gravel. “Just like you. Do you have the ledger?”
“I have it,” I reached into my pocket, pulling out the black USB drive, holding it up so the distant FBI snipers could see it through their scopes. “But I want guarantees. You take this, you erase the data, and you never go near Sarah or me again.”
Vargas laughed, a dark, terrible sound. “You are not in a position to negotiate, architect. Toss the drive, and we’ll make your death quick.”
“I don't think so,” I said, planting my feet. “You need this drive to prove to your bosses in Bogota that Marcus didn't skim off the top. Without this, your own cartel will execute you both.”
Marcus’s confident facade cracked. He glared at Vargas. “Just get the drive! I told you, he’s bluffing.”
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“I’m not bluffing,” I said, taking a step backward toward the edge of the pier. “Confess to the money laundering, Marcus. Say it out loud. How much did you wash through the Florida accounts?”
Marcus sneered, losing his temper exactly as he always did when cornered. “Thirty million! I washed thirty million for the cartel, and I built an empire while you were crying over your broken marriage! Now give me the damn drive!”
