Chapter 2 - Protocol Delta
"Federal agents! Clear the threshold!"
The front door didn’t just open; it splintered inward under a controlled breach. Tactical boots hit the hardwood foyer with thunderous precision. Flashlights cut through the dark hallways like laser beams, painting the walls in strobing white light.
My father raised his hands instinctively, stepping back into the dining room, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Now, hold on just a minute, I am a pillar of this community—"
"Shut your mouth, Thomas," Rafael Ortega barked, his service weapon holstered as he rushed past my father straight into the kitchen. His eyes locked onto me, bleeding on the floor, before snapping up to Grant, who was still frozen in a crouch. "Agent down. Secure the perimeter. Cuffs on the male suspect, now."
Two tactical officers slammed Grant against the refrigerator before he could lunge. He cursed, thrashing against the stainless steel, his eyes wide with unadulterated terror. "You can't do this! This is a domestic dispute! She tripped! Ask her mother!"
"Mom, tell them!" Grant screamed, looking desperately toward Linda.
Linda’s composure finally cracked. Her hands trembled as she clutched her pearls. "Agent Ortega, please. There’s been a terrible misunderstanding. Mara has been under immense psychological strain. We were just helping her calm down—"
"Save it for the magistrate, Mrs. Quinn," Rafael interrupted coldly, kneeling beside me. He shrugged off his heavy tactical jacket and draped it over my shoulders, his hands expertly checking my pulse and assessing my rib cage. "You good, partner?"
"My ribs," I gasped, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through my side. "And check the second-floor guest room. My Bureau case. The biometric lock has been forced open. The offline hard drive containing the offshore shell-company ledgers for the cyber-heist is inside."
Grant stopped fighting the officers. He turned his head slowly, staring at me with sheer disbelief. "You left it offline?"
"I’m an investigator, Grant," I whispered, shivering beneath Rafael's jacket as the ambient kitchen lights flickered against the chaos. "I never trust a suspect who asks the exact questions a thief would ask."
May you like
Rafael signaled two agents to head upstairs. Within three minutes, they descended carrying my black federal case, along with a secondary briefcase stuffed with bearer bonds and flash drives bearing Grant’s initials.
My mother let out a soft, whimpering sound and slumped against the kitchen island, finally realizing that the meticulous life she and my father had built was entirely dismantled.
