Chapter 7 - The Trap Springs
Before Sarah could pull the trigger, a high-velocity beanbag round struck her square in the chest.
She collapsed, gasping for air, the 9mm clattering onto the gravel. Chloe jumped down from the boxcar, her tactical shotgun racked and ready.
"Stay down!" Chloe roared.
Mark panicked. He sprinted for his SUV, but police sirens suddenly erupted from every direction. Red and blue lights pierced the fog. The FBI tactical units—not the local police—swarmed the railyard.
Chloe hadn't just been recording; she had bypassed Sarah's brother entirely and sent the initial video, along with Mark's financial records and the life insurance policy, directly to a contact at the FBI field office. The Feds had been listening to the entire wiretap from the boxcar.
Mark was tackled to the ground by three heavily armored agents. Sarah, still wheezing from the beanbag round, was dragged to her feet and slammed against the hood of a cruiser.
An FBI agent walked up to me, shining a flashlight in my face. "Elias Harris?"
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"That's me," I said, my voice exhausted.
"We have the recording. You're safe now, son."
