He gets the rooting information from Russo's accountant. He tells us which cars to hit on the interstate. We seize the cash, book 10% into evidence to make it look legit, and the rest goes back to Russo through the Cayman accounts. Arthur stared down at the weeping man. He felt no sympathy, only the cold satisfaction of turning a catastrophic failure into a monumental victory.
He tapped the hidden microphone under his collar. Did you get all that, Weaver? Arthur asked quietly through the earpiece. Weaver's voice was crisp and energized, loud and clear. I'm having Lieutenant Miller arrested right now.
Excellent work, Arthur. We just traded a Ferrari for the entire syndicate. Arthur stepped out of the interrogation room. The heavy steel door sealing Gregory Stanton's fate with a resounding metallic click. The air in the observation corridor felt instantly cooler, though Chief Edward Gallagher was sweating hard enough to soak through his uniform collar.
Special agent in charge Jonathan Weaver was already holding a secure encrypted radio, his eyes gleaming with the predatory focus of a veteran hunter who had just spotted his primary target. The disastrous destruction of the Ferrari Roma was no longer a colossal failure. It was the golden key to unlocking the entire Dominic Russo syndicate. Target is confirmed as Lieutenant James Lawson. Weaver barked into his radio, decisively overriding the previous alias Stanton had mumbled in his panic.
He is currently located in the second floor narcotics division bullpen. I want a full tactical perimeter established around the precinct exits. Nobody leaves. Team Alpha, converge on the second floor. Execute federal arrest warrant for conspiracy, wire fraud, and racketeering.
Chief Gallagher looked as though he might collapse into a nearby folding chair. Agent Weaver, please let me bring Lorson down here quietly. If you storm the bullpen, it's going to create a panic. My department is already facing a public relations nightmare with the Ferrari crash outside. Your public relations nightmare is the least of my concerns, Chief.
Weaver replied, his tone as hard as forged steel. Your precinct is serving as a banking hub for one of the most violent money laundering operations in the Midwest. We are doing this my way. Arthur adjusted the cuffs of his ruined dustcovered suit jacket, instantly shifting his mindset from the undercover persona of a high rolling logistics consultant back to a seasoned federal operator. I am going up there, Jonathan.
Lorson needs to see exactly who dismantled his operation. Take point, Arthur. Weaver agreed, drawing his own bureauissued Glock 19. Let's bag a dirty cop. Upstairs in the narcotics division, Lieutenant James Lawson was leaning back in his ergonomic leather chair, laughing loudly into his desktop phone.