Here is the absolute reality of your mourning, Vincent, Weaver stated, his voice devoid of any warmth. We have the corrupt Oakbrook officers, Stanton and Lorson, on tape detailing the entire highway robbery scheme. We have the $3 million in fake cash that you just attempted to retrieve. You are facing 20 years for the assault on a federal agent alone, not counting the RICO predicates. But if you tell us where Dominic Russo keeps the physical ledgers, the actual books, not the encrypted drives, I will personally recommend that you serve your time in a low security facility instead of ADX Florence.
Moreno scoffed, though the sound was weak and hollow. You think Russo keeps physical books? The man is paranoid. Everything is on rotating encrypted offshore servers. Do not lie to me," Arthur interjected, stepping forward and resting his hands on the steel table.
"A man as paranoid as Dominic Russo never fully trusts the digital world. Hackers can steal data. He keeps a hard copy, a master ledger. Where is it?" For a long, agonizing minute.
The only sound in the command center was the hum of the diesel generator. Moreno looked at Arthur's cold, unyielding expression, realizing that the FBI had thoroughly outplayed them at every turn. Highland Park, Moreno finally whispered, his voice cracking. The estate on Waverly Road. There's a climate controlled panic room behind the wine celler.
He keeps the flash drives and a leatherbound physical ledger in a biometric safe inside. Weaver immediately turned to his communications technician. Scramble the hostage rescue team. I want federal warrants signed by a judge in 10 minutes. We hit the Waverly estate before Russo even realizes Moreno missed his check-in.
The raid on Highland Park. 2 hours later, a convoy of unmarked armored bearcats rolled silently through the affluent treeline streets of Highland Park. The neighborhood was a fortress of extreme wealth, characterized by sprawling mansions and towering iron gates. Dominic Russo's compound was the crown jewel, a massive ultraodderern fortress equipped with high-tech surveillance and private security. Arthur sat in the lead vehicle holding an M4 carbine.
The destruction of the Ferrari Roma less than 24 hours ago felt like a lifetime away. What started as a disastrous traffic stop had miraculously evolved into the most significant organized crime takedown of his career. Green light, green light, execute. Weaver's voice crackled over the encrypted radioet. The heavy steel reinforced bumper of the lead Bearecat slammed into Russo's front gates, tearing the rot iron from its stone hinges with a screech of twisting metal.
Dozens of heavily armed federal agents swarmed the property. Flashbang grenades detonated on the front lawn, disorienting the private security guards, who immediately dropped their weapons and surrendered in the face of overwhelming tactical superiority. Arthur led the primary entry team. They breached the massive mahogany front doors using hydraulic rams, flooding into the marble foyer. FBI, get down.