Chapter 18 - The Last Dying Ember
The dark,
seedy underbelly of the city's criminal network was slowly,
inevitably starving,
choked off by the massive,
relentless federal crackdowns that had followed the spectacular,
public destruction of the von Stein empire.
Klaus,
the slimy,
unethical private investigator who had once eagerly,
greedily accepted exorbitant amounts of bloody,
tainted money from Heinrich,
was currently sitting in a dimly lit,
foul-smelling dive bar on the edge of the industrial district.
His cheap,
wrinkled suit was stained with stale,
spilled beer,
and his bank accounts were entirely,
hopelessly empty,
monitored constantly by aggressive,
unforgiving federal agents who watched his every single,
desperate move.
He took a long,
bitter swig from his dirty,
chipped glass,
his mind working frantically,
obsessively over a highly dangerous,
incredibly stupid plan to extort the one man who had completely,
single-handedly ruined his lucrative,
corrupt livelihood.
Klaus mistakenly,
foolishly believed that he possessed a small,
overlooked piece of sensitive,
financial information regarding a hidden,
offshore account that Heinrich had established years before his catastrophic,
humiliating downfall.
He pulled out a cheap,
untraceable burner phone from his damp,
smelly jacket pocket,
his trembling,
sweaty fingers slowly,
hesitantly dialing a number he had managed to steal from a highly encrypted,
federal police database.
The line rang twice,
the sound echoing loudly in his ear,
before it was picked up with a sharp,
terrifyingly silent click,
the sheer,
heavy presence on the other end of the line instantly sending a cold,
paralyzing shiver straight down his spine.
"If you are calling this secure,
unlisted number,
you are making the absolute,
greatest mistake of your remarkably,
pathetically short life,"
Thomas Brand's voice warned,
sounding exactly like the cold,
lethal phantom he truly,
undeniably was.
Klaus swallowed hard,
his throat suddenly,
painfully dry,
but his greedy,
desperate need for quick,
untraceable cash foolishly,
fatally overpowered his basic,
primitive survival instincts.
"I know about the Swiss accounts,
Brand,"
Klaus lied,
trying desperately,
unsuccessfully to make his trembling,
weak voice sound confident,
threatening,
and powerful.
"I know you and your daughter seized millions of untraceable,
illegal euros,
and if you do not wire me a massive,
generous cut by midnight tonight,
I am taking the hidden,
encrypted ledgers straight to the international press."
There was a long,
heavy pause on the line,
a silence so deep,
so terrifyingly calm,
that Klaus instantly,
horrifyingly realized he had not cornered a frightened,
vulnerable civilian,
but had foolishly,
recklessly kicked a sleeping,
incredibly dangerous predator.
"Look outside the window,
Klaus,"
Thomas instructed softly,
the absolute,
chilling lack of anger in his voice proving infinitely more terrifying than a loud,
screaming threat.
Klaus froze completely,
his blood running entirely,
instantly cold as he slowly,
terrifiedly turned his head to look through the dirty,
smudged glass of the tavern window.
Parked directly across the dark,
rain-slicked street was a large,
black armored SUV,
and standing beside it,
illuminated perfectly by a flickering,
broken streetlamp,
was Thomas Brand,
holding the satellite phone to his ear,
his cold,
deadly eyes locked completely,
unwaveringly onto the pathetic,
shaking investigator.
"You do not possess any ledgers,
you do not have any leverage,
and you are absolutely,
entirely out of your depth,"
Thomas stated,
his voice vibrating clearly,
loudly through the small,
cheap speaker of the burner phone.
Klaus dropped the phone,
his hands shaking so violently that he knocked over his beer,
the bitter,
amber liquid spilling rapidly,
messily across the sticky,
ruined wooden bar.
Before he could even attempt to stand up,
before he could formulate a desperate,
frantic plan to run out the back alley door,
two massive,
heavily armed federal agents walked casually,
confidently through the front entrance of the bar,
their shiny,
silver badges glinting sharply in the dim,
depressing light.
"Klaus Müller,
you are under arrest for attempted,
felony extortion and obstruction of a massive,
ongoing federal investigation,"
one of the agents announced,
grabbing the screaming,
crying investigator by the collar and dragging him forcefully,
unceremoniously out into the cold,
unforgiving night.
Thomas stood calmly by his vehicle,
watching the pathetic,
broken man being shoved roughly,
violently into the back of a waiting,
unmarked police cruiser,
knowing that the very last,
dying ember of the von Stein legacy had just been completely,
permanently extinguished.
He got into his car,
starting the powerful,
quiet engine,
and drove away from the dark,
tainted city,
heading back toward the bright,
safe sanctuary where his family slept peacefully,
completely,
blissfully unaware of the silent,
May you like
relentless protection he constantly,
tirelessly provided.
