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Chapter 863:
He wouldn’t ruin her victory. He wouldn’t show her his bleeding, pathetic heart.
He opened his eyes. The anguish drained away, replaced by a cold, hollow blankness.
“Turn the car around,” Cole said, wrapping a tissue around his knuckles. “We have one last piece of garbage to clean up p>
The black armored SUV tore through congested Manhattan traffic, its engine growling as the driver cut aggressively across lanes.
Inside the cabin, the air was suffocatingly still. Cole sat in the back, his face carved from granite. The blood on his knuckles had dried to dark, brittle flakes. He stared at the blur of buildings passing beyond the fractured window, the burning jealousy toward Easton having nowhere left to go — curdling instead into a cold, hyper-focused rage aimed at the root of everything: Alycia Beasley.
He leaned forward. His voice was completely flat.
“It’s time to close the net,” Cole said. “I want her in a federal cell before the sun goes down p>
𝘙𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝘧𝗋e𝘦 ո𝘰𝘷e𝗹𝗌 𝗼ո
His assistant pulled out an encrypted satellite phone and dialed a secure number that had been held in reserve for weeks. The call connected. Abbie — June’s former assistant, sheltered in a Compton-funded safe house — answered. Her breathing was fast and shallow.
“Is it time?” Abbie asked, her voice caught between terror and desperate relief.
Cole took the phone. “Your redemption starts right now, Abbie. My men are outside your door. You will take the evidence to the FBI New York Field Office immediately.” His grip tightened on the phone. “You will sit in front of a federal agent and tell them exactly how Alycia Beasley threatened your family. You will detail how she forced you to poison June’s food with hormones designed to destroy her ovaries. Do not leave out a single word p>
“I have everything,” Abbie said quickly. “The encrypted bank transfers. The voice recordings of her threats. It’s all on the drive p>
Cole hung up and tossed the phone onto the center console. The evidence was a perfect, lethal instrument — more than enough to put Alycia away for decades on federal attempted murder charges.
He wasn’t finished.
“Call the senior partners at our defense firm,” Cole told his assistant. “Tell them to walk into the FBI field office now and assist with the filing. Call in every favor with the SDNY prosecutors. I want this classified as a hate crime and interstate murder-for-hire. No bail. Maximum security p>
The assistant’s fingers flew across his tablet, dispatching the orders to the most ruthless legal team in the country.
Cole leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt nothing that resembled mercy.
Meanwhile, in the sterile, brightly lit lobby of the FBI New York Field Office in lower Manhattan, Abbie approached the front desk flanked by two of Cole’s men in dark suits. Her hands trembled as she slid a thick manila envelope and a black USB drive across the counter.
“I need to report an attempted murder,” she said, her voice cracking.