Chapter 17 - Rules of Engagement
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“Who are you calling?” Bell asked, his cop instincts instantly making him wary.
“A friend,” I replied vaguely.
I dialed Bishop. He answered on the first half-ring.
“Talk to me, Commander.”
“Target package update,” I said, reverting to the cold, clipped military jargon I hadn't used in almost two decades. “Primary target is now Eleanor Caldwell. Chairwoman of the Board.”
I could practically hear Bishop’s eyebrows hit his hairline over the phone. “The matriarch? Damn. We’re going straight for the crown.”
“She used her credentials to blind the cameras. She dispatched Martin Vale to recover stolen financial documents from her own grandson, resulting in the assault on Nora.”
“Copy that. What are the rules of engagement?” Bishop asked, his fingers already clacking away on a mechanical keyboard.
I looked at Nora. She was holding her whiteboard tight to her chest, watching me with wide eyes. Don't become scary Dad, she had written.
“We play by the book, Bishop,” I said firmly. “I want a complete forensic audit of the university’s endowment fund. Track the twenty million dollar scholarship money. Find the shell companies. Find the real estate fraud. Pull property records, offshore wire transfers, tax discrepancies.”
“That’s a massive digital footprint to uncover legally, David. It could take weeks.”
“You have forty-eight hours,” I told him. “Before Eleanor Caldwell realizes the police have the cloud backup and starts shredding physical documents.”
“Understood. And Martin Vale?”
My jaw tightened. Vale was a mercenary. A man who broke a young girl’s face for a paycheck.
“Find him. Pinpoint his location. But do not engage. Just give me his coordinates.”
“Commander—”
“Coordinates only, Bishop.”
I hung up the phone and turned back to Detective Bell.
“You have your cloud backup, Detective,” I said evenly. “Take Ortiz’s statement. File your warrants. Start building a rock-solid case against Vale for aggravated assault, and against Eleanor Caldwell for obstruction and conspiracy.”
May you like
Bell looked at me, a mixture of respect and deep apprehension on his face. “And what are you going to do, Mr. Miller?”
“I am going to sit right here and feed my daughter ice chips,” I lied flawlessly. “Because that is what a good father does.”
