Chapter 9 - SIEGE OF THE WOLFE COMPOUND
Three unmarked Blackhawk helicopters dropped out of the storm clouds like birds of prey, their high-intensity searchlights bathing the courtyard in three million candlepower of white light.
"FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS OR BE ENGAGED!" the loudspeaker boomed from the lead gunship.
The four mercenaries on the terrace, realizing that the entire United States military and federal law enforcement apparatus had descended on the estate, instantly threw their rifles to the stone patio, dropped to their stomachs, and placed their hands behind their heads.
Victor Wolfe was left standing alone in the spotlight, clutching his useless detonator, his white hair plastered to his forehead by the driving rain.
"No... no! This is my house! I own this land!" Victor screamed, pulling a concealed snub-nosed revolver from his coat pocket.
He aimed the barrel directly at my chest.
I didn't need a rifle. I didn't need the federal snipers hovering fifty feet above us.
I closed the distance in three explosive strides, vaulting up the terrace stairs. Victor pulled the trigger, but I slapped his wrist to the outside, redirecting the gunshot harmlessly into the stone balustrade. In a single fluid motion, I grabbed his arm, executed a combat wrist-lock, and twisted the revolver from his grip until the metal clattered against the marble.
Victor swung a wild, desperate left punch at my face.
I caught his fist in mid-air.
My grip tightened around his fingers, squeezing with the crushing power of years of Delta physical conditioning. The bones in his hand began to grind together.
"Thirty-one fractures, Victor," I whispered, my voice cutting through the roar of the helicopter rotors.
I swept his leg out from under him, driving the billionaire patriarch down onto his knees on his own terrace. I forced his arm behind his back, pressing his face into the cold, wet marble, right beside the discarded revolver.
Dozens of federal tactical agents in full SWAT gear swarmed the terrace, zip-tying the surrendering guards and securing the estate.
Special Agent Marcus Vance—Ray’s brother and lead prosecutor for the federal task force—stepped onto the terrace, holding an encrypted warrant folder.
"Victor Wolfe," Marcus announced, kneeling beside the trembling old man. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, racketeering, narcotics trafficking, and high treason. Every asset, account, and property under the Wolfe Corporation is hereby seized by the federal government."
Victor looked up, his face covered in rain and dirt, glaring at me with raw, venomous hatred. "You destroyed my family... you ruined everything I spent forty years building..."
"No, Victor," I said, looking down at him with utter disdain. "You destroyed yourself the moment you walked through my front door with that stolen key."
I turned my back on the fallen titan and walked toward the landing zone where the medevac helicopter was waiting with its rotors turning.
The battle for justice was finished.
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Now, the only battle that mattered was waiting for me in a hospital room three hundred miles away.
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