Chapter 7 - The Brother’s Last Stand
The retaliation came faster than even Matteo had anticipated.
At two o'clock that afternoon, while I was cross-referencing Harrison Jenkins’ bank statements, four marked NYPD cruisers pulled up to the security gates of the Alpine estate.
Because the estate was in New Jersey, New York police officers had no jurisdictional authority without federal marshals or local warrants.
Yet Captain Harrison Jenkins had not come with a legal warrant.
He had come with six rogue detectives from his precinct, flashing gold badges at the private security guards through the iron gates.
I stood at the second-floor window, watching the police lights flash blue and red against the wet oak trees.
Captain Harrison Jenkins stood on the asphalt outside his unmarked cruiser.
He looked like an older, more weathered version of Bradley—broad-shouldered, thick-necked, with the arrogant swagger of a man who had carried a gun and a badge for twenty years without consequence.
"DeLuca!" Harrison's voice boomed through a portable megaphone.
"Open the gates!"
"We have an active interstate warrant for the arrest of Alexandra Vance for grand larceny and corporate embezzlement!"
My heart leaped into my throat.
"Larceny?" I gasped, turning toward Matteo.
"He’s fabricating criminal charges to drag me into a holding cell."
"If I end up in his precinct basement, I will never walk out alive."
Matteo didn't even flinch.
He was standing by the desk, calmly pouring two glasses of sparkling mineral water.
"Harrison is a cornered dog barking at the moon," Matteo said, handing me a glass.
"Look down the road, Alexandra."
I turned back to the window.
From the winding country highway beyond the gates, three sleek black Suburbans with government plates and flashing federal red-and-blue strobes swept around the bend.
Behind them came two cruisers from the New Jersey State Police.
Captain Harrison Jenkins turned around, his megaphone dropping to his side as the federal vehicles blocked his cruisers from behind.
Special Agent Miller of the FBI stepped out of the lead government vehicle, holding a federal indictment folder in his left hand.
A team of federal tactical officers in tactical vests fanned out across the roadway, their carbines held at the low ready.
"Captain Jenkins!" Agent Miller’s voice echoed across the lawn through a vehicle speaker.
"Step away from your vehicle and place your hands behind your head!"
"You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, money laundering, and interstate witness tampering!"
Harrison reached instinctively toward his service holster.
"Don't do it, Captain!" Miller shouted.
"There are twelve snipers painted on your chest right now!"
From my vantage point on the terrace, I watched the mighty Captain Harrison Jenkins—the man who had terrified me for three years, the man who had promised Bradley that I would be silenced—slowly raise his hands into the freezing rain.
Two federal marshals slammed him against the hood of his own squad car, kicking his legs apart and ratcheting steel handcuffs around his wrists.
His detectives surrendered their badges and weapons without firing a single shot.
Beside me, Matteo stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the spectacle with cold satisfaction.
May you like
"One down," Matteo whispered.
"Now it's time to collect the other."
