The federal building was a fortress of cold, gray stone. Max, Trisha, and Roland walked through the heavy glass doors, flanked by two of Max’s most trusted security men. Justin, Max’s chief legal counsel, was waiting for them in the lobby, looking impeccably stressed in a tailored suit.“Max, this is a disaster,” Justin whispered, adjusting his tie. “They moved fast. The Becker lawer was just here and he has been trying to get a writ of habeas corpus for the Beckers, but they’re holding them under federal authority. This is serious.”“I know, Justin,” Max said, his voice calm despite the circumstances. “Where is Gonzalez?”“He’s waiting in Interview Room Three. They’re treating us like suspects, Max. You should not go in without me.”“He knows I won’t,” Max countered. “But I need to see his face first. Trisha, you stay with Justin. Roland, you come with me. We need to know what he’s playing at.”“Max, I strongly advise against this,” Justin pleaded.“I didn’t ask for advice, Justin. I

The silence in Agent Gonzalez’s office was heavy, broken only by the hum of the ventilation system. Max was about to press Gonzalez on his personal grudge when the door burst open.A man strode in, radiating frantic energy. He was impeccably dressed, and clearly furious. This was the Mayor of the City Bryan Benson.“What in God’s name is going on here, Gonzalez?” Bryan demanded, his voice ringing with authority. He ignored Max and the others, focusing his ire entirely on the FBI Agent.Gonzalez’s calm facade cracked. He slammed his hand on the desk. “Mayor Benson! You are not authorized to be here! This is a federal investigation!”“I am the Mayor of this city, Agent, and I am authorized to be anywhere I please within my jurisdiction,” Bryan shot back, walking straight to the table. He looked at the Becker twins, still cuffed and guarded. “Release them. All of them. Now.”Tommy, despite his handcuffs, surged forward, his face red with indignation. “Bryan! Finally! What took you so lon

The Becker armored SUV pulled away from the federal building, merging aggressively into the New York traffic. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with residual anger and the metallic smell of fear that Tommy Becker refused to acknowledge.Tommy was vibrating with rage, pacing the short length of the spacious cabin, gesturing wildly at Mayor Bryan Benson, who sat opposite him, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.“You! You let that little rat humiliate us!” Tommy roared, stabbing a finger toward Bryan. “That little federal worm, Gonzalez! He put cuffs on me, Bryan! On me! Do you know what that means? That means he thinks he can touch us! He thinks we’re just common thugs!”Bryan adjusted his tie nervously. “Tommy, calm down. I got you out, didn’t I? I pulled the pin on his whole operation. He’s crippled now, trust me.”“Crippled? He had us locked up for six hours! Six hours of my life wasted because you couldn’t keep your city clean!” Tommy yelled. “You think a little slap on the wrist is en

The conference room on the 50th floor of the Lucky Tower was usually a place of quiet confidence. Today, it was a war bunker. Justin Hayes, Max’s primary external legal counsel—a man who specialized in making problems disappear with paperwork—stood before a massive whiteboard covered in legal jargon and red circles. Around the mahogany table sat three other high-powered defense attorneys, their faces grim.“Let’s be clear,” Justin began, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Agent Gonzalez is not playing the usual game. This isn’t a local zoning dispute or a state tax audit. This is federal, and it’s politically charged.”A senior corporate lawyer named Martha sighed, adjusting her glasses. “The subpoenas just hit. They are broad, Justin. They aren’t just asking for records related to the harbor incident. They’re demanding five years of financial statements for Lucky Corp, every subsidiary, every shell company. They’re citing RICO.”“Racketeering,” Justin confirmed, slamming

The air in Max’s private command center was thick with tension and the low hum of servers. Max stood before a massive tactical display, ignoring the blinking red alerts that signaled the ongoing legal assault launched by Agent Gonzalez. He had pivoted. The visible enemy, the man with the gun or the microphone, was no longer the primary concern.Seated at the long steel table were Elias, a grizzled man who ran Max’s street-level intelligence network, and Lena, a young, sharp analyst who managed the digital landscape.“Forget Kim,” Max ordered, his voice cutting through the silence. “Kim was a puppet. A loud, messy distraction. If he was the mastermind, we’d be dealing with brute force, not surgical strikes.”Elias leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “We’ve been tracking Kim’s known associates, Max. They’re all low-level muscle or small-time smugglers. No one with the brains to coordinate a financial attack and a federal investigation simultaneously.”“Exactly,” Max agreed.