Chapter 9 - THE CLEVELAND CONNECTION
Damien did not wait for the sun to rise. The micro-USB drive contained everything: Volkov’s offshore accounts, the names of corrupt judges he paid off, and the exact coordinates of his safe houses. It was the key to dismantling an empire.
From the fortified war room in his penthouse, Damien dispatched his men. It was a surgical strike. Within hours, Volkov’s warehouses were raided by anonymous tips to the FBI, his bank accounts were drained and rerouted to shell companies, and his top lieutenants were either arrested or quietly convinced to switch sides.
But Volkov himself had vanished.
"He's running," Viktor reported, standing over a map table. "We checked the docks, the airports, the private strips. He's ghosted."
Eleanor was sitting on the sofa, a warm blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring at a printout of the ledger data. "He's not running away," she said suddenly. "He's going to Cleveland."
Damien and Viktor looked at her.
"Look at the last transaction," Eleanor pointed to the paper. "A wire transfer to a holding company in Ohio. When he asked me where I learned Russian at the restaurant, I lied and said Cleveland. He knew my father was from there. My father owned an old hunting cabin in the Cuyahoga Valley. It's off the grid. If Volkov wants to regroup and hide from you and the Feds, that's where he'd go."
Damien’s eyes darkened. "And he knows you know about it. He's expecting us to follow."
"It's a trap," Viktor warned.
"I know," Damien said, racking the slide of his pistol. "But it's a trap I am going to walk into. This ends today."
He turned to Eleanor. "You stay here. You are safe."
"Like hell I am," Eleanor stood up, dropping the blanket. "I know those woods. I know the cabin. If you go in blind, he’ll kill you. You need me to guide you through the back trails."
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Damien stared at her, ready to argue, but he saw the iron resolve in her eyes. The terrified waitress was dead. In her place stood a woman who belonged by his side.
"Suit up," he commanded.
