Chapter 16 - The Mole
While Marcus tore through international financial firewalls, Detective Ruiz and Grant were busy setting a trap of their own at the precinct. If the new Chairman had the reach to murder a man in maximum security and hack my mansion, he had eyes inside the police department.
I drove into the city under heavy police escort to meet Grant in a windowless evidence room in the basement of the precinct.
"We need to flush the mole out," Grant said, pacing the concrete floor. "We can't trust the task force, we can't trust the cyber division, and I barely trust my own shadow right now."
"What's the play?" I asked.
Ruiz placed a standard evidence box on the metal table between us. Inside was a fake ledger page we had mocked up, artificially aged and embossed with fake gold lettering.
"I am going to 'accidentally' leave this file on my desk while I go to lunch," Ruiz explained, her eyes hard and focused. "I've already started a rumor in the bullpen that I found a hidden page from the original Chairman's register inside Richard's old office. A page that lists the true identity of the new successor."
"If the mole hears that, they’ll have to make a move," Grant added. "They can't risk us actually identifying their boss. They'll try to steal or photograph the page."
We waited in the surveillance room, our eyes glued to the black-and-white feed of Ruiz's empty desk. For an agonizing hour, nothing happened. Detectives walked by, answering phones and drinking coffee.
Then, Officer Miller—a young, ambitious rookie who had been assigned to guard Leo's hospital room months ago—casually strolled past the desk. He stopped, glanced around nervously, and then quickly stepped into Ruiz's cubicle. He pulled out a small digital camera and snapped three rapid photos of the fake ledger page.
"Got him," Grant growled, his hand resting on his holster.
Ten minutes later, Miller was sitting in an interrogation room, sweating profusely as Grant and I stared him down.
"I didn't have a choice!" Miller pleaded, his voice cracking. "They have my gambling debts. They threatened my wife!"
"Who is 'they', Miller?" I demanded, slamming my hands on the metal table. "Give me a name!"
"I don't have a name!" Miller sobbed. "I swear to God! I only get encrypted text messages. They pay me in untraceable cryptocurrency. But... but I know where the money comes from."
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Grant leaned in close. "Where?"
"Switzerland," Miller whispered, terrified. "Everything routes through a private bank in Geneva. That's where the head of the snake is. The Chairman isn't running this from America. He's running it from Europe."
