Page 28 of Old Money, Deadly Secrets
He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms and surveying her with a curious, open gaze. “What would interest you? We’re not exactly set up for high tea, but we can make you comfortable.”
Margaret considered his words, her gaze drifting around the rustic cabin, then settling on the quiet, steady warmth of Dog. The tension that had been a constant companion since she woke seemed to ebb a little more. The library sounded perfectly sensible, and cards, while not her usual pastime, were a common enough social diversion.
She offered a small, hesitant smile, a genuine warmth flickering in her eyes. “The library sounds wonderful, of course. I’m always partial to a good biography or historical text.” She glanced down for a moment, fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass before meeting his gaze again. “If there happens to be any paper and perhaps a pencil, I enjoy sketching architectural details. Or, more accurately, reimagining them. My own home, particularly the conservatories, has started to feel a little predictable.” She gave a slight, self-deprecating shrug. “It’s hardly an action-packed pastime, but it keeps my mind occupied.”
Why am I telling him this? she wondered briefly. He probably isn’t interested in such things.
She watched Dog’s reaction, curious. It wasn’t the kind of hobby she usually advertised, especially not to men like him. There was a faint surprise in his eyes, quickly masked, replaced by a thoughtful nod.
“Architectural details,” Dog repeated, a hint of genuine interest in his voice. “I think we can rustle up some paper and a pencil for you. Warden’s usually got a pad for notes somewhere around here.” He pushed off the counter. “Lead the way to the library, then? We’ve got a bit of time before the call.”
Margaret’s smile deepened, a genuine, unburdened curve of her lips. “You lead, please,” she said, a new lightness in her step as she followed him, curious about what treasures Warden’s library might hold.
19 - DOG
After leaving Margaret in the library, Dog joined Warden and Jake in Warden’s sitting room. At precisely ten o’clock in the morning, Warden’s heavy, encrypted laptop came to life. The screen divided neatly into three frames.
In the top left window, Bear and Link appeared, broadcasting from the Mountain View Farm bunker. Link’s eyes were bloodshot and his posture slumped, clearly running on little more than caffeine, while Bear stood behind him like a mountain of grim determination.
The top right window showed Hank and Swede dialing in from their secure compound in Montana.
Occupying the bottom left frame was Will, broadcasting from his home office in Beacon Hill. He looked sharp and completely in his element, surrounded by glowing digital financial charts.
Dog, Warden, and Jake gathered closely around the screen in Maine, their attention fixed on the unfolding connection.
“Sound off,” Bear rumbled, initiating the protocol.
“Montana secure,” Hank replied.
“Beacon Hill secure,” Will added.
“Maine secure,” Dog confirmed. “Let’s have it. Tell me we have a way to end this.”
“We do,” Hank said, his voice carrying the heavy authority of a man who had spent the last forty-eight hours calling in every favor he had in Washington. “Gentlemen, as of this morning, we have compiled enough actionable evidence to hand Charles Winslow over to the FBI and Homeland Security. It’s no longer just a private security matter. He’s looking at federal charges.”
Jake leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Let’s hear the hit list.”
Will took the floor first, shifting some papers on his desk. “I’ll start with the money. Charles has been running a massive laundering operation to hide his illicit funding. I’ve spent the last two days peeling back layers of shell companies, mostly registered in the Caymans and Seychelles. The capital flow is undeniable, but the endpoint is what gets us federal jurisdiction. I’ve tied the final holding accounts directly to Faisal’s network.”
Warden let out a low whistle. “He’s funding a known terrorist syndicate.”
“Exactly,” Will nodded. He paused briefly, scanning the grid of faces on his screen. “Any questions on the financial side before I drop off? I don’t have the clearance for the rest of this, nor do I want to know, so I’ll leave the battlefield intel to you all.”
Bear gave a crisp nod. “Thanks, Will. Solid work.”
Similar acknowledgments rippled across the other screens and, with a quick wave, Will’s window went dark.
Swede’s face leaned closer to the camera in Montana. “Insider trading on a geopolitical scale. Link and I have been cross-referencing Charles’s market maneuvers over the past three years. The man has a terrifyingly accurate track record of shorting defense contractors and buying into foreign oil right before major global incidents.”
“He wasn’t guessing,” Link chimed in from the bunker, rubbing his tired eyes. “He had advanced warning. We found encrypted data packets tying Charles to offshore accounts used to pay freelance assassins and mercenaries. He was funding proxy conflicts and manipulating the stock market based on the fallout.”
Dog frowned as he watched Link rub his eyes. Then he asked, “Did you ever follow up on that eye doctor I recommended? Those tired eyes could definitely use the help.”
Link gave a weary shrug but said nothing. Dog allowed the unspoken answer to slide, filing it away to follow up in private later.
His expression hardened as he shifted back to the matter at hand. “How the hell does a Richmond Heights billionaire get advanced warning on global conflicts and Special Forces movements?”
Hank’s expression darkened. “Because he was buying the playbook directly from the Pentagon. Or rather, extorting it. I pulled some very heavy strings in DC. Met with contacts at the DOJ. We cornered three prominent Senators, all sitting on the Armed Services and Defense Intelligence committees. Charles had them completely compromised with illicit campaign funds and manufactured scandals.”
