Chapter 1: The Extraction "...left handprints around her throat?" I finished, my voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that seemed to freeze the air in the room. The ambient chatter of the Easter party outside the study door faded into a dull, meaningless hum.

Chapter 12: The Fall from Grace

The federal raid happened at noon on a bright Thursday. I parked in a rented sedan three blocks away from Richard’s sprawling, manicured estate, listening to the chaotic chatter on the police scanner.

Dozens of FBI agents, clad in heavy tactical gear and windbreakers, swarmed the property from all sides. The ornate iron gates were literally ripped off their hinges by an armored BearCat vehicle. The pastel linens and crystal champagne flutes from his pristine Easter party were long gone, replaced by the harsh glare of flashing red and blue lights.

They dragged Richard out the front door in heavy steel handcuffs. His custom silk shirt was wrinkled, his hair a sweaty, frantic mess. Reporters, tipped off hours earlier by an anonymous source (me), crowded the perimeter fence, cameras flashing wildly as the celebrated, untouchable real estate mogul was shoved into the back of a federal cruiser. He looked pathetic. But I knew the feds wouldn't hold him long. The cartel would make sure his bail was paid, because the cartel preferred to handle their traitors in private.